eclectic creme'
by deadpan riot
Summary: 81: Sparrow, Hammer, and a silver key chest
1. slave cage

a/n: Out of nowhere I got jumped by a ton of random, completly idiodic ideas involving all the lovies in fable I II & III. This is where I have decided to dump them, as they have no relation whatsoever to any of the other oneshot collections I have going. And, well, I figured this way if I somehow magically update this frequently, it would be better than overloading the stories list thing.

_Eclectic Creme'_**:  
>Slave Cage<br>**Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>The journey to Westcliffe had started off quite well, if one considered being ambushed countless times by bandits to be a good thing (of which Sparrow did. Killing things was a favorite past time of his, and it was far more enjoyable when the thing you were brutally face raping was trying to stab you in the kidneys.)<p>

Hammer, though enthusiastic, wasn't much help, but he didn't blame her too much. After all, she'd gone from being a mouthy monk to a hero in the span of a day, and after had spent all of her time cooped up in a small space with a woman who was as much of a people person as your average balverine.

So, after countless bullets and more than a few new nicks on his bartered-for sword (Avo he loved Knothole Island. He paid for his sword with three baby chickens. Chickens!) Sparrow was losing his mind. It had nothing to do with the bandits, oh no. You see, as much as he loved having a companion who did more than bark at dirt and chase his own tail, the strain of having to deal with the oversized woman was starting to wear on him. Oh, he liked her well enough, but it was sort of like having a child along for the ride. Inept, and overly serious, he had to put a stop to her madness. If she stayed this serious for long, he might have to shoot her in her kneecap.

Pausing to reload his pistol, Sparrow eyed up the little campsite thing they now stood in. Tucked away by the trees were two slave caravans, both empty, and both notably unlocked. Idea forming, the Hero tucked his pistol away, strolling over to the steel and wood monstrosities.

"Sparrow? What are you doing? We have to go this way! I can hear more idiots up ahead that need to be introduced to my hammer!"

Ignoring her, Sparrow swung one of the cage doors open, moving it back and forth and mentally noting the thing could use with an oiling.

"Sparrow!"

He dove into the cage as if he'd been thrown by an invisible foe, making sure to snag the door with his foot so it would swing shut behind him. Climbing to his feet and swaying as though drunk off his ass, Sparrow turned so he was facing a baffled Hammer. Clinging to the bars, he feigned clanking a can across the bars, making a face as he did so.

"Have you gone mental? Get out of there!"

With a wicked grin and a wag of his finger, he pretended to throw his invisible can over his shoulder before proceeding to turn and wag his ass at her. "Only if you make me! You see, I seem to have lost the key, and/or the ability to operate a door. Odd? Perhaps. True? Most defiantly."

Hammer scowled, and much to Sparrows surprise, did exactly that. With an almighty yank, she tore the door away from its frame with one hand, and with the other snatched him up and threw him kicking and hollering over her shoulder.

Only when they'd reached the so called road did she drop him on his ass at her feet, arms crossing as she looked sternly down at him. Fixing his hat, Sparrow looked up at her with one eye, waiting to see if he'd need to dodge her namesake flying at his most lovely(in his opinion) face.

They spent a good minute or five staring at one another, before Hammer broke down.

And laughed until she was crying.

"Bloody _hell_ Sparrow, I knew going on an adventure with you would be an interesting experience, but dear _Avo_."

He took the offered hand and was pulled easily to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants as Hammer scrubbed the water from her cheeks and attempted to catch her breath. "Do you do that sort of thing when you're alone?"

He chuckled. "Of course not, what would be the point?"

"Right, of course, silly me. Well then, shall we?"

Sparrow promptly retook the lead, not so much because he wanted to be the first one shot as he wanted to make sure his face didn't betray his thoughts. The ones involving him doing incredibly stupid shit for no reason other than his own amusement, and that of his faithful mutt fluffnugget. Well, mostly for himself. He didn't think fluffnugget was able to comprehend many (if any) of the inane things he did.

And if Theresa the ninja spy hadn't told Hammer of his odd behavioral patterns, then who was he to go against her wishes? (Ignoring of course all the times he did just that.)


	2. the mysterious eyepatch

_eclectic creme'  
><em>**the mysterious eyepatch  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>The first time she saw him, she wasn't sure what to think. He was shorter than her, as most people were, but not by much. He was also dressed more femininely than she, which was something that was quite new to her. Oh sure, his pants, boots, and gloves were technically unisex, his hat that of the richest of gentlemen, but coupled with his cropped woman's jacket and large pile of brilliantly pink dreads, such things were easily overlooked.<p>

Of course, his seeming disdain for shirts proved quite flawlessly he was in fact of the male variety. The tight trousers helped as well.

What she didn't get, was the eyepatch.

"So, there's nothing wrong with that eye?"

"Nope."

"And you can see out of it?"

"Well, as I can't see through fabric, mostly it's just black right now."

"But you _can_ see out of it?"

"Of course! You think I'd let someone take my eye? I'd have to go on a horrible killing spree, then binge drink for a week!"

"Ok…But then why do you wear an eye patch?"

Sparrow shrugged, trademark smirk sliding in place. "Why not?"

"But, I mean, you like guns! How can you properly shoot a bloke if you can hardly see him?"

Sparrow laughed, tipping back in the chair he'd commandeered from Theresa. The two of them were currently sitting in the remainder of the Guild, Sparrow taking some down time to get to know his newest comrade better.

"I can see quite well, better in fact, than I could before I started wearing this thing." He snapped the eyepatch against his face good naturdly. "If I take it off, this eye can see fantasticly in the dark." He pointed at the covered eye. "And this one functions on little to no depth perception. So at night? I'm the best damn shot there ever was! Depth perception _and _nightvision! It makes my normal daytime shooting look like a children's game!"

Hammer laughed along with him, although she wasn't sure if she was amused, or a little unnerved. Probably both, all things considered.

"So I was thinking of growing a beard and/or mustache…"

She had no idea why he brought it up, but could think of only one appropriate response. "Are you _trying_ to be mistaken for a pirate?"

Sparrow waved her comment off. "Hardly. Pirates don't bath, much like bandits. And I assure you, I quite like it. Bathing, that is."

It wasn't what she meant, really, but she was getting the feeling that with Sparrow, she had to expect something rather off angle. And part of her wondered if he really was that odd, or if he was doing it on purpose.


	3. girls clothes

The two thugs you meet outside the gates of Westcliff are always good for a laugh

_eclectic creme'  
><em>**girl's clothes  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>"Hey there little girl, you lost?"<p>

"Uh, Ron, I think that's a bloke."

"I know, that's what makes it an insult. He's a bloke in women's clothing, it's funny."

Sparrow looked between the two thugs standing by the gates of Westcliff. He'd paused on his way at the comment, curiosity nagging at the back of his mind.

"Come on, let's ignore these two idiots."

"Well would you look at that, he taught his pet troll to talk!"

Hammer huffed, and attempted to drag the Hero along after her, all the while making obscene threats under her breath. Sparrow, however, was still stuck on one singular thing that refused to allow him to continue forward with their mission until he had an answer.

"How do you know I'm wearing women's clothes?"

"Eh?"

"Yea Ron, how did you, y'know, know?"

Shaking off Hammer's hand, Sparrow planted his feet and cocked his head, eyeing up the thug. "You don't seem the type to be particularly fashion conscious, and from what I can tell the women here probably wear the same thing you do. So how _do_ you know any of the clothes on my back aren't meant for men? Huh? You get some sort of fashionable thugs monthly magazine?"

The two dirty men looked at each other, before turning back to the Hero. "Well it's just, y'know, obvious I guess. Unless blokes where yer from wear skirts an' the likes."

Sparrow glanced down at himself, before turning his glare on the men. "It's a _kilt_! Men wear them all the time! Fierce warriors from a foreign country wear them as well." He pointed pointedly at the tartan plaid cloth hung about his dangly bits. The colors were garish and unnatural from the norm, yet matched wonderfully with the rest of the strange things adorning the man.

"Right. If you say so mate."

Hammer, wary of starting a fight before they'd even stepped foot within the city, despite her earlier comments, tugged at the Hero until she'd finally managed to drag him away from the two cackling men. "We have things to do, we don't need to be distracted by a couple of _winners_ like those lot."

"They're following us."

Hammer scowled over her shoulder at the men.

"You're not going to smash them?"

"No. They aren't worth it. If we just ignore them, they'll go away."

"They insulted my kilt."

She glanced down at the bright pink, purple, and white cloth, and then wisely decided to say nothing.

"They're insulting your hammer as we speak."

She waved off the comment, blocking out the annoying prattling behind them, concentrating on dragging an uncooperative Sparrow toward the looming shadow of the Crucible. "Bloody _hell_ Sparrow, come on. You could at least help me a little by pretending to walk y'know. I'm not going to drag you all the way up those stairs-"

Sparrow went rigid, going from a hassle to hustle, to downright statuesque. "Sparrow-"

"They can insult the kilt, but nobody, _nobody_ slanders that which is the balverine boots!"

Before Hammer could grab him properly, he'd managed to duck around her, sword singing free of its sheath. The two thugs cowered beneath the malicious glare Hammer knew they had leveled on them, turning to flee as a cackle rent the air.

As the Hero of Strength looked on, Sparrow led a mad chase after the two, his gleefully murderous pursuit made ever the more terrifying by the slightly insane clothing he'd chosen to adorn himself with that day.

She shook her head. The man needed an intervention. For what, precisely, she wasn't sure. She just knew he needed one. Soon.


	4. faulty treasure detector

a/n: all of these little oneshots are so stupid, but it's doing wonders for the writers block lol. I hope you guys are enjoying reading these at least half as much as I'm enjoying writing them!

**faulty treasure detector  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Dog<p>

* * *

><p>"What is it boy? Whut'cha find?"<p>

The mutt barked again, eager to share his discovery with his master.

Trotting eagerly to his companion's side, Sparrow glanced around the clearing for the treasure he was sure was waiting for him.

With a happy wag of his tail, the dog spun about and pointed.

At nothing.

Frowning, Sparrow looked from his treasure detector, to the empty space it was pointing to. "Uh, fluffnugget? There's nothing there."

Whining, the dog continued to point eagerly. Confused, the hero walked a circuit around the offending area, before calling the mutt to him.

"Come on boy, lets go!"

Once he was sure the dog was following him, Sparrow continued down the path toward Westcliff. Until, that is, his treasure detector went off once more. Maybe, he thought, this time he'd get his damn treasure.

Or not.

Five more bizarre failings, and Sparrow had had enough. "Ok fluffnugget, I see what you're pointing at, but thing is there's _nothing there_."

All he got in response was the doleful puppy eyes the mutt had perfected long before they met. Which was why Sparrow was immune to them.

"Oh no, don't give me that look. I've said it once, I'll say it again: lay off the spirits, they're messing with your head. Besides, I don't see you haggling with the idiot bar keeps for it." He pointed at the dog. "You," He then pointed at his bag, which clinked merrily as the bottles of booze shifted against one another. "Stay out of here."

fluffnugget watched his master walk away, whining pleadingly. Now how was he supposed to get his drink on?


	5. as subtle as a hobbe on a merrygoround

_eclectic creme'  
><em>**as subtle as a hobbe on a merry-go-round  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Theresa<p>

* * *

><p>Theresa, blind as she was, couldn't help but stare at her newest pupil as he returned from his ventures in Knothole Island. She'd sent him off as a village lad, hoping to keep attention off him, and here he was now, standing out like a sore thumb and happy for it.<p>

Brushing off droplets of what were once snowflakes from his blazing white woman's jacket, he happily trailed more water around the place as he flopped down into the rooms only chair. Brushing his electric pink dreadlocks over his shoulder, Sparrow flashed her a grin she had a feeling he knew she could see, blindness or not. He was, after all, quite clever, despite his antics. Which was why she couldn't fathom why he'd dressed himself so. Clearly, he hadn't gotten the part of the plan that required him to at least _pretend_ to blend in.

"Sparrow, what are you wearing?"

"Hm?" He glanced down at himself. "Oh this? Odds and ends I picked up. I figure if I have to be a hero, I might as well look the part! After all, if I'm going to have people staring at me non-stop, I might as well give them something to look at."

Theresa mentally face-palmed. "Of course."

Apparently, he was going through his 'rebellious teenager' phase.

Or a mid-life crisis.

Granted, she wasn't really sure what qualified as 'mid-life' anymore, what with the life expectancy for the general populace changing every decade or so, but still.

"What do ya think? Like it?"

Sighing, she turned from him back to the various things she had scattered about the old table. "Yes, of course. It's very….eye catching."

Although she was pretending to not pay attention to him by way of actually not paying attention to him, Theresa could have sworn she heard something that sounded very much like a snicker.


	6. the art of pushing people off cliffs

**the art of pushing people off cliffs  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>"Ha!"<p>

"Arrrrgh!"

Sparrow peered over the cliff he'd shoved the last of their enemies over. The man fell with anything but grace, and landed with a neat thud atop one of his former buddies. The hero chuckled to himself, thoughts of what passer byes would think when they saw the pile of bodies lying about below flitting about in his head.

"Uh, Sparrow?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Hammer, who was resting on her hammer and looking positively bewildered.

"I know I'm new at this, but why do you always push them off cliffs? I mean, it doesn't really seem fair does it? They don't try to push us off cliffs."

Sparrow guffawed. "Well it's their fault they didn't think of it first innit? And it saves on time, effort, and bullets." He nodded sagely.

"Er, right. Still doesn't seem fair though…"

Sparrow waved a dismissive hand before continuing on. "Fighting isn't fair, especially against people like us. 'sides, it's funny. And breaks up the monotony quite nicely. Trust me, the thrill of stabbing people gets old…."

Hammer's frown was so loud he could hear it.

"But-"

"Come on Hammer! Lots more bandits that need to be introduced to Sally!" He chuckled at her exasperated sigh. She hated that he'd named her hammer Sally, but had yet to find a way to deter it.

"Right, coming. Although how about this time you find a new way to 'break up the monotony'?"

"Hm, well, I suppose I could pin them to trees or something…"


	7. TGRDAHMCOD

**the great red dragon and his manly collection of dolls  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>"Sparrow?"<p>

She'd been waiting for the hero to meet her at the Crucible for _at least_ three days, but it felt longer. Standing around and listening to snide comments from thugs tended to do that. Make time feel longer than it was, that is. She was sure she'd seen him around, but for whatever reason he had yet to show and get their quest moving. And so, she had left her post to scour the dingy town for him.

"Sparrow!"

After a stop off at the pub for 'questioning', she'd been pointed towards the side of town she had yet to explore. The first road had led her up to a crest that was adorned with a statue of non other than her friend making some obscene gesture. The second and final road, which was where she was now, seemed to go on for ages. There were little to no people around, and she wondered if it was going to lead her somehow back to the howling halls. Not a pleasant prospect.

"I swear to Avo when I find him I'm going to put him in a tree and leave him there…."

The echoing boom of gunshots could be heard up ahead, putting the hero of strength on guard. A shanty appeared from the gloom on her left, the crudely written sign hung from its front drawing her attention.

**Westcliff shootng raing. Pop the townees in the hed win a prise!  
>Just 50g!<strong>

The combination of barely legible handwriting and poor spelling (backwards letters included) gave her a headache, but she got the drift. Despite the shady implications of the place, she had to wonder what prize could possibly be distracting Sparrow for _three bloody days_.

Up ahead she could hear fluffnugget barking his furry little head off, now that the gunfire had finally stopped. She could also hear what sounded like ecstatic cursing.

Hammer rounded the bend, the course directly in front of her. And there he was, cackling like a madman and dancing like a child at Christmas. Fluffnugget was running circles around his master, and the guy running the course looked like he couldn't decide if he should laugh, or run for his life. Which tended to be how she felt more often than not.

"There you are! I've been waiting for you for ages!"

"Hammer!" Sparrow spun about on his heels, flouncing up to her in that way of his before, quite literally, leaping onto her. "I did it!"

She stumbled a little with the force of the 'hug' she currently found herself being strangled with, though more from surprise than anything. "Did what?"

He released her as fast as he'd attached himself, shit eating grin plastered to his face. "I got it!"

"Got what?"

He pulled the gun from his holster, holding it up so she could properly see it. Instead of the white and gold clockwork pistol he'd been proudly sporting the last time she saw him, he now held the most peculiar pistol she'd ever seen. Red gold, and bronze, she couldn't decide if it looked like it was made with dragon hide, or if someone had decided to turn a tree branch into a gun.

"I'm sorry, but that thing is top prize? Is it even worth all the gold I'm more than certain you sunk into winning it?"

In a span of seconds his face had darkened, startling her.

"_Yes_."

She flinched at the clipped tone. "Right, silly me, of course it is. You know I don't know much about guns." Hammer held her hands up in defense, glad to see her friends face smooth back into its usual cock-sure expression.

Sparrow waved the gun about, watching it out of the corner of his eye as he explained exactly why it was worth three days of grueling effort.

Hammer nodded as though it made complete sense. Which it didn't really, but then she hadn't been lying when she said she knew little about guns. And the little she did know was only from hanging around Sparrow.

After his little lesson, Sparrow's attention went back to the gun in his hand, eyes glittering as though he'd just become a proud father.

It disturbed her, a little. And what's more, now that she was able to get a proper look at him, she noted he looked far worse for wear then he had last she'd seen him. His clothes were rumpled and dirty, his dreads were coming undone from the various fastenings and bandanas holding them back, and there was gunpowder smudged on his face. He also looked gaunter.

"Sparrow, have you been eating? Or sleeping for that matter?" He obviously hadn't been bathing, either. But that was a tad more obvious.

The hero blinked at her, a distracted 'hm?' her only response.

"Sparrow…"

He waved her off, walking past her with an airy "Don't think so, didn't have time, no matter."

Growling, she scrubbed her hand over her face, praying for patience. "And just how do you expect to make it through the Crucible if you haven't eaten or slept for three bloody days?"

Despite what he liked to say to the contrary, she knew damn well he didn't actually run on 'awesome'. She knew quite well in fact that heroes needed the same things normal humans did, regardless of all the bull Sparrow liked to spout.

"Same way I do everything else. With _style_." He bounded up the stairs of the little shanty as he spoke, disappearing inside before she could berate him. Not trusting the wooden planks to hold her weight, Hammer stuck her head in the doorway. What she saw was enough to give even her a heart attack. Fortunately for everyone involved, shanty included, she didn't.

"What on _earth_?"

Sparrow glanced up at her from what he was doing, eyes following hers. "Oh, those? Second prize."

"There must be at least a hundred dolls in there! How much money _did _you dump into this bloody game?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Dunno, stopped counting after awhile."

Hammer eyed the hoard of dolls warily. They were creepy enough as it was, without the fact that she recognized three of the six little monsters as being her, Theresa, and Sparrow himself. "Why are there ones of us?"

Another shrug. "I wondered the same thing. Probably because we, my dear Hero of Strength, are _awesome_."

Oh how she was starting to hate that word. "Or we have a stalker that needs a good talking to…"

Sparrow chuckled, going back to what he was doing previously. "If anyone has a stalker, it's me. You've never seen Garth before," he nudged the doll with blue robes and white cornrows closest to his foot. "So how could someone following you know what he looks like? Same goes for Lucien." He kicked another doll that looked like a vampire prince from one of her old story books.

Hammer frowned, holy unconvinced. "Oh yea? Well who's the other one of?" She pointed at the last, unidentified doll type.

Sparrow glanced at one of the aforementioned toys, frowning. "It's, uh…Hm." He picked the closest one up, again forgoing what he'd been doing. He turned it over in his hands, poking and prodding it as if it would tell him by way of torture. Something she honestly wouldn't put past him.

"Well? Do you know him then or not?"

Holding the doll upside down by its leg, Sparrow gave it one last thoughtful frown. "Never seen him before in my life."

"So much for your stalker, then."

He threw the doll at her, not hard mind, but it still came unexpectedly enough to smack her in the face. "If I recall, the stalker was your idea, not mine."

"Yea, but who ran with it like it was the best idea in the world? I mean really Sparrow, who wants a stalker anyway?"

Face going blank, Sparrow for once said nothing, instead going back to fiddling with something on the counter.

Shaking her head, she glanced down at the doll she'd caught on its journey to the floor, eyeing up the elegant, if flashy dress. The bugger was even wearing some sort of cape, for Avo's sake.

"You can have that, if you like. In fact, if you're nice I'll let you have a few more. Then we can both have a doll collection that rivals that of the most spoilt child."

She eyed up the mystery man doll in her hand. "Er, as sweet as that is of you, I think I'll pass. They sort of give me the creeps."

"Not even one of the ones of you? Come on, how many people can say they have a doll of themselves?"

"I dunno, but I think you have enough to make up the difference."

Sparrow laughed. "Maybe. Either way, I was thinking of giving one to Theresa next I see her. She always refused to tell me when her birthday was, and she doesn't bother with holidays, but I figure I can still finagle her into taking one. Either way, I was thinking of leaving most of them at the Guild. As sort of decorations, or sentinels."

She shuddered at the prospect of hundreds of beady eyes watching her every time they were summoned back. Gargoyles was more accurate a definition really. Which gave her a thought. "Why not use them to decorate your house?" Last time she'd been there, she'd been horrified to find more than a few gargoyle heads scattered about the place, glued back together after having been shot from their perch by their new owner. That and other things she'd rather not think about.

Sparrow paused, seemingly considering it. "I could…of course, considering how many of the little buggers I've got, I could probably do both."

Damn.

"Ha!"

"Sparrow what are you doing?"

Ignoring her motherly tone of disapproving-ness, Sparrow slid open the drawer of the cash register he'd been trying to get open for the past ten minutes. Thugs may have not been good at spelling, or fighting, or bathing, or anything else really, but they sure knew how to rig a cash register to keep the contents from being stolen. Pocketing the hefty amount of gold he found, the hero closed the drawer with a smart snap, turning to face Hammer with a righteous look on his face.

"I'm only taking back what's rightfully mine."

"Rightfully yours?"

"Yes. If this bloody contest wasn't _rigged_ I wouldn't have been here for three days dumping every piece of gold I had into it."

Hammer again glanced at the pile of dolls he'd managed to collect. He'd probably spent enough to afford a small house. Regardless, she couldn't bring herself to accept that stealing was justified with such a flimsy excuse as rigging.

"How could it be rigged? You shoot the targets, you win stuff yea?"

Sighing, Sparrow went about shoving the dolls into his bag, speaking boredly over his shoulder to her as he did. "Easy. Half the time the targets I wasn't supposed to hit were all up, and there was only one I could hit, then it took forever for the idiot to put up more targets. I mean really, you'd think he thought I was an idiot!"

Hammer wasn't sure she understood what he was talking about, but she got the drift none the less. "Ok so he shorted you. What do you expect though, from a bunch of thugs? They know you have money, so of course they're going to try to bleed you dry. We are in Westcliff remember."

Sparrow shrugged, tying off his bag and tossing one of the dolls to her. "Exactly. They should expect that I'd take back what's rightfully mine then."

"Stealing what was stolen from you is still stealing, Sparrow."

"Is it? I could argue otherwise."

"I'm sure you could." She moved out of the doorway to let her miscreant friend through.

"'ey, wot are ye two doin' in thare?"

Sparrows eyes jumped above her head to someone coming up behind them, flashy smirk dancing across his face. She glanced back to see the guy running the shooting contest stomping their way.

"You're not going to shoot him. Or anything else that would cause him bodily harm. It's bad enough you've committed one crime here already, we don't need the lot of them chasing us out of town with torches and pitchforks."

He threw her a confused look. "Why would they do that? Are we witches?"

"Well I'm most certainly not, but that's not the point. Besides Sparrow, they burn witches at the stake, they don't chase them out of town."

"Oh, right. That was the evil scientist's monster, the one made from a bunch of dead guys."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Later!" He leapt from the porch as he spoke, taking off down the path toward the town.

At least he was heeding her words and _not_ tying the guy coming after them to his shooting range. Which reminded her…Glancing over her shoulder to see the thug closing in, pistol drawn, she bolted, footsteps thundering loudly as she barreled down the hill.

"Sparrow! Wait up! Sodding wanker, the second I catch you I'm sticking you on a bleeding _roof_…"


	8. rain

**RAIN  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>Sparrow scowled at the sky, hugging his arms against his chest. He wanted nothing more than to hole up in one of the little shanties made by the bandits, build a fire and call it a night. But he couldn't. Because he and Hammer had a <em>mission<em>. Which required they get where they were going _right now_.

Silently cursing Theresa, and the sky, and the bandits who got to huddle around fires, Sparrow stomped onwards, no longer caring that he was spattering mud all over his no longer blinding white clothing.

"Sparrow? Are you all right? You've been acting like you're about to throw a tantrum for the past hour."

Stopping dead in his tracks, he fixed Hammer with a stare that would give little children night terrors. "I. Am not. A child. _And I do not throw tantrums!_"

"Ok, ok, calm down! I just meant that it looks like something's bugging you is all."

"I'm fine, nothing's bugging me, everything is just _peachy_."

"If you say so."

Sparrow grumbled, pulling his squelching boots from the mud in preparation to plod on ahead. Until, that is, with a blinding flash and an almighty crash, whatever hole in the sky that had been leaking on them for the past three hours tore itself a new one and dumped what felt like an oceans worth of water onto their heads.

"Arg! Why the bloody hell won't it stop raining? It never stops! _Why is it always raining? Why?"_

The last bit was screeched into the sky, almost drowned out by a renewed bout of thunder.

Hammer shuddered, glad it was physically impossible for Sparrow to set the sky on fire, or anything worse, for that matter. She'd seen enough of his psychotic break downs to know them when she saw them. And this could defiantly be counted as such. Although to be fair it had been raining nonstop since daybreak. Not that Sparrow had noticed until a few hours ago.

Still, watching him cuss out the heavens was both ludicrous, and just a little bit frightening.

She silently prayed to Avo to ignore him. She really, really didn't want to have to drag him the rest of the way. Which she would, if he managed to get himself struck by lightning. Which was looking pretty plausible, the way he was waving his gun around in the air.

"Sparrow, knock it off! Do you want to get burnt to a crisp? Because I'm not dragging your sorry ass back to the guild if you do!"


	9. lucien a vampire

**Spire rumors: Lucien a vampire?  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Lucien, Bob<p>

* * *

><p>"So I think Lucien is a vampire…"<p>

"A what?"

"A vampire! You know, those guys that drink blood and eat children and, and, uh, scare away the sun?"

Bob frowned, clearly thinking hard. He'd been having trouble remembering things lately, although for some reason he remembered Sparrow well enough, even though he may occasionally forget his name and number.

Sparrow waited patiently, until Bob finally nodded an ascent.

"I think you may have something there. He is sort of…creepy, innit he?"

"I'll say. Did you know he invited me and my sister into his house when we were kids?"

"Really? Seems a little suspect if you ask me.."

"That's not even the craziest part! He went all mental, and shot her!"

"Who?"

"My sister!"

"Oh. That wasn't very nice of him was it?"

"I'll say. And then without even apologizing, he goes and shoots me!"

"He shot you?"

"Yea! Right there!" Sparrow jabbed a finger into his gut were the bullet had lodged itself years ago. "And then he threw me out a window!"

"Really?"

"Yea! Well, I'm not sure about the window bit. I remember falling out of one, you know, breaking glass, cold air, hitting roofs on the way down…But I can't quite remember how I ended up going through it. So as far as I'm concerned, he threw me."

"How the bloody hell did you survive?"

"Through the power of awesome."

Bob nodded sagely, as if that was the most reasonable answer on the planet. It made Sparrow miss Hammer, who was always more than willing to call him a loon and start a fight, just for the fun of it.

Spotting another guard coming their way (who he thought was the one he'd christened Larry) Sparrow had a brilliant idea.

"Hey Larry!"

The guard paused, arms crossing as he realized who it was that was addressing him. (Not as easy as you'd think, considering everyone had taken to calling him Larry, thanks to Sparrow scribbling it on the back of his mask one night)

"What do you want 273?"

Sparrow looked around confused, before he realized he was the one being addressed. "We've been over this Larry, my name is Sparrow. Spah-rohw. Spaaaaarooooooow."

"Whatever, just get on with it."

"Right. I was wondering, do you think Lucien's a vampire?"

"A vampire, how d'ya figure?"

"Weeeell…."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Lucien frowned, watching his men (slaves and guards alike) go about their duties. Something was going on down there, he was sure of it. His commandants had been giving him peculiar looks the past few weeks, and more than once he'd walked in on whispered conversations that stopped the second he entered the room.

"My Lord, here's your-"

"You. Tell me what's going on down there."

"My lord?"

"I'm no fool, I've seen the way you've all been behaving, so out with it."

The commandant fidgeted, wary of incurring his master's wrath, but seeing no way to avoid it. "Well sir, it seems someone's started a rumor…"

"A rumor? About what, pray tell?"

"You, sir."

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Go on…"

The commandant gulped. "That…You're a…a vampire, my Lord."

Lucien blinked, the unease in the air completely going over his head as he took in his experiment's words. "A vampire?"

"Yes, Sir."

Lucien burst out laughing, much to his slave's bewilderment. The commandant was sure the man was going to have a melt down and set something on fire. Again.

"What a preposterous idea! Me, a vampire? Hardly! Now. Go back to your duties. And if you should hear anymore about this idiocy, make sure whomever spouts it is rightly rectified."

The commandant bowed. "Yes, my Liege."

Lucien turned back to the window once he was again alone, chuckling softly to himself. Him, a vampire? How completely and utterly ludicrous. Obviously, his recruits weren't getting enough work to properly keep their minds…stimulated. Yes, that was it. What kind of host was he if he didn't keep his 'guests' so engrossed that they had to entertain themselves with such drivel? Yes, the very next thing tomorrow he'd make sure this problem was fixed.

He closed the blinds of the giant window, turning to go attend to the newest shipment of recruits. But first, he needed to have a word with the chief supervisor. He couldn't let this rumor persist, especially not with all the fresh young minds just waiting for his molding.

Lucien fidgeted with his jacket.

And especially not because they were on to him.

Certainly not that at all.


	10. a letter from the spire

**a letter from the spire  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>Dear Hammer,<p>

How's life outside in the sun? You and fluffnugget manage to annoy the pants off Theresa yet? I know she doesn't wear any, but you know what I mean yea?

Anyway, living here has been quite the experience. Sleeping on the cold, dirty floor, chasing the rats…It's kind of like sleeping in the Guild, actually. Except the floor here does this weird heartbeat thing. It's like a giant, deformed cat or something.

The guards are nice enough, now that we no longer have to fight over who's going to shave whom. They give me cookies now before hand, and I wake up and boom! Hair gone. Those are some magic, hair steeling cookies!

The only downside is we don't get to bathe, so the place kind of smells, and I don't think all the dead people are helping that either.

I met Garth, by the way. Nice enough guy I suppose, does this neat trick were he talks without moving his lips, kind of like that guy we saw in Oakfield last time we met, you know the one with the talking doll? Well, he can do that. Except better, I think.

There's a guy here, who sort of reminds me of Theresa when I was little. 'Do this, do that, obey me or suffer the consequences', that sort of thing. Except this guy is like the kinky, half goat version that likes to hit people with swords, and demand you thank him for the pain. Weird right? I met a bloke like that once in Bowerstone, and let me tell you that's the last time I blindly accept party invitations!

Oh, and Bob says Hi as well. He's this guy that likes to hang around with me here. Talks about his wife all the time. Well, not as much anymore. I think he's got a tumor, or amnesia, or that other thing that starts with an a I can't remember. I don't think he even remembers he doesn't know you, but it's ok, we can pretend. That's what you do with the elderly right? Just go with it? Granted, he's not much older than me, but still counts yea?

Well, I've got to go. Apparently the Commandant wants me to come help him feng sui his office. Or something.

Ta 3!

Recruit 273  
>Sparrow the Gypsy King<p>

p.s: Tell Theresa I think Lucien's become a vampire. He looks like one, he never comes out of his creepy office, and he likes to have his minions make cookies. If that doesn't scream vampire, I don't know what does. Also, I think he killed the sun. _It never shines in here_. That's what vampires do, they keep the sun too scared to come to their lair! Oh god, I'm living with a wrinkly old vampire! And I'm bald!

p.p.s: What was I talking about again? That annoying droning noise thing drives me up a wall, and I had to smash the sittin' crate so it wouldn't take over my mind and make me do things again.

p.p.p.s: that guard that likes to yell at me also says hi. He wouldn't tell me his name, so I have christened him Jefferey, in honor of one of the fleas who lost his life when they stole my hair. We should have him over for tea.


	11. no personal effects

**no personal effects  
><strong>Sparrow, Hammer  
>Fable II<p>

* * *

><p>"No weapons, no personal effects, and no dogs."<p>

"It's alright Sparrow, I'll look after your things for you."

The hero frowned at the ship captain, instantly wary. He'd never been on a ship before, but he was pretty sure these rules were complete and utter bullshit.

"Why not?"

"Why not _what_?"

"Why can't I take my stuff? You get to take your stuff!"

"I'm the bleedin' captain, ya tosser!"

"So?"

"So no means no. Now either leave your things, or swim to the spire!"

Sparrow cocked his head thoughtfully. "How far away is the spire?"

"Bloody hell Sparrow! You can't honestly be thinking of swimming there! You'd never make it!"

He waved her off, wholly unconvinced.

"Lass's right, ye'd never make it. It takes months by boat, 'ow long you think it'd take ta swim to eh?"

He frowned at the daunting task of doing that kind of vague math in his head, but he would not be deterred. "-mumble- minus three…-mumble- carry the one…"

"Sparrow!"

He cringed as Hammer's palm thwacked him over the head. "Fine! Bloody hell woman…lost my place anyway…"

Rubbing the back of his head, Sparrow reluctantly dislodged his weapons from his person, shoved them in his bag, and then placed said bag in Hammer's outstretched hand.

Fluffnugget whined, not at all happy he was yet again being deterred from the fun. "S'ok boy, somebody's gotta annoy Hammer and Theresa while I'm gone. Yes they do!" He ruffled the mutt's fur until the dog was wagging his tail happily.

Hammer was looking quite annoyed by the comment, but refrained from saying anything. Smiling cheekily, he turned to breeze past the captain and hop aboard the boat.

"Hold on kid, I told ye, no personal effects."

Sparrow frowned. "But I just…" He trailed off when he realized what the man was talking about. "_You mean I have to get naked?"_


	12. shaving

**shaving  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow<p>

* * *

><p>"No, please, <em>anything<em> but that!"

"Come off it it's just hair. Hair infested with fleas I might add."

Sparrow tightened the hold he had on his head. They could make him leave his weapons, his clothes, and his dog, but like_ hell_ he was giving them his hair.

"Well it's not like I just spent months traversing the ocean by ship or anything! Apparently Lucien's never heard of bathing, or personal hygiene in general for that matter. Besides, I've just made friends with them!"

"Eh? With who?"

"Freddy, and Jim, and Larry, and Shaniqua, and Yvonne, and Darrel, and Jose', and Mary, and Derek and-"

"Who the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"The fleas!" He pointed to his head for emphasis. Yes, over the course of his journey, he had come to love the little bugs, despite how much he'd despised them at first. They were great conversationalists, despite being unable to speak English.

The spire guard gave him a weird look. "Right then." He motioned to the two other, much burlier, guards standing nearest them.

Sparrow realized what was going on too late, and before he could do anything about it, the two men had managed to pin him down in the chair.

"No! Yolanda!" Struggle, scream, and cry as he might, the guards held him in place while the devil man with the razor went to work.

Needless to say, he caused quite the scene.

"No…" By the time it was over, Sparrow had cried himself hoarse, weeping like a child when they finally shooed him away.

"And stay away from that hair!"

He was shunted out into the hall before he could root through the giant pile of hair in the corner of the room for his friends.

"It's –sniff- not fair! They –sniff- they get to keep t-their h-hair –sniff-!"

The guard escorting him followed the hero's pointing finger to one of the office windows above them. "That's not hair you bloomin' idiot, them's horns."

"Horns?" Sparrow wiped his eyes on the back of his bare arm, far less bothered by being naked then losing his hair.

"Yea, ye know, them things like wot goats got."

Despite his sorrow and anger and what have you, Sparrow snickered, picturing those particular men's mothers getting it on with goats. Huzzah blackmail!


	13. mystery food

**mystery food  
><strong>Sparrow, Theresa  
>Fable II<p>

* * *

><p>Sparrow poked moodily at the contents of his plate, casting not-so-discreet glances at Theresa that were clearly meant to blame her for this dire situation. The fact that she was blind was irrelevant to him, since he had a sneaking suspicion she was a liar and could in fact see him. Somehow. He hadn't worked out how just yet.<p>

"Something wrong, Sparrow?"

He set his fork down in an oddly polite fashion, using his shoddy napkin to dab at his lips as he'd seen nobles do when he was a street urchin who took to stalking them when he was bored.

"Oh no. That is, unless you count feeding me Skorm's boogies for dinner."

"You shouldn't complain, Sparrow. Be thankful you have something with which to fill your stomach."

He snorted. "I've eaten boots that were probably tastier than this."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Have you _smelled_ this? Even burnt and smothered in _cheese_ I wouldn't feed it to fluffnugget, let alone eat it myself."

"Then do not smell it. Just eat it."

The young boy frowned at the gypsy woman at the other end of the small table. "Didn't you hear what I'm saying here? I. Would rather. Eat a shoe. In fact, how about I trade you this here plate of 'food' for one of yours?"

Theresa lifted her creepy eyes from the cards she'd been idly shuffling for the past hour. "I would have thought, being a former orphan, you'd be grateful for food."

"Course I would. But this? This ain't food. And I _shant_ be eating it." He crossed his arms and adapted his version of 'noble-speak', as he dubbed it, for his final declaration.

"Don't be difficult, boy. It is indeed food, and if you don't eat it now, it will be waiting for you in the morning."

Sparrow looked down at the mess before him, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "It'll probably have gone grey and moldy by then. And somehow I doubt mold will make it taste any better. If it isn't moldy already and I just can't tell because it happens to be covered in ninja mold…"

Theresa was silent, staring at the boy with a perplexed look on her face. She'd even stopped manhandling her cards.

He ignored her, letting the silence stretch on until he grew bored, and irritated by the rumbling in his gut. "So, how about that shoe?"


	14. spam about the campfire

**spam about the campfire  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer, Reaver<p>

* * *

><p>"Hey Sparrow, catch!"<p>

The hero looked up just in time to deflect the shiny flying object from smacking him square in the face.

Hammer chuckled. "Nice catch."

He picked the object, which felt like a deformed can, up from where it had fallen near his feet, flashing his friend a grin. "Thanks. Cat like reflexes."

A soft chuckle. "If by chance the cat is dead, then yes, most definitely. Aren't you lucky?"

"Ha ha ha, Reaver made a funny." He flashed an impish grin at the pirate currently sitting beside him near the fire. "Shall I give you a prize?"

Reaver pretended to think about it. "Well, if this _prize_ involves you and I in compromising positions somewhere abouts our…_sleeping quarters_," He cast a disdainful look at the shoddy tent that had been erected by Garth earlier. One that Sparrow had 'borrowed' from some bandits, who had left more than a few disturbing stains in it. "Then please, by all means."

Hammer made a disgusted sound, and Garth did nothing, as he was off on the other side of the camp ignoring them.

Sparrow fixed him with a highly over exaggerated look of seduction. "Mayhaps I shall…But first!"

The sudden yell and quick movement, which consisted of Sparrow whipping out a dagger and thrusting it into the air, startled Hammer into a string of curses that were thoroughly ignored. Reaver just raised a brow at him.

"The mighty demon of pint-sized proportions that dwells within my gullet-hole demands sustenance!" Sparrow jammed the blade into the tin, crudely cutting the top off.

"Jeeze Sparrow, one of these days you're going to lose a finger doing that."

Flicking the defeated piece of tin to the ground, Sparrow proceeded to stab the blade into the food stuffs without looking at what he was doing. "Hopefully. At least three. I mean, might as well go all the way. In fact, I'd probably just cut my whole hand off, get a nifty hook instead." He momentarily zoned out, which was fine since he was only missing another one of Hammer's 'and this is why that's a stupid idea, you git', speeches. Instead, he entertained himself by holding his hand up to his face, examining it and wondering what it would be like to have a hook there instead.

"He's not even listening anymore, is he?"

"It would seem not. And I daresay I can't blame him. Must you always be such the mother hen?"

Hammer shot the pirate a glare. "Yea well, if it wasn't for my 'mother hen-ing', he'd probably be missing half his limbs, have sold his soul for a piece of raspberry pie, and be toting about a pack of pet monsters. Not to mention we'd still be near the same place we were twelve years ago."

"Pity. To think, if it wasn't for you, I'd still be snug in my manor enjoying more _pleasurable_ company." He looked off wistfully toward the direction that was probably the most likely to contain Bloodstone, effectively putting a damper on Hammer's show of going for her hammer.

"Oh gods above and below no...NO….NOOOOOOOOOO!"

Sparrow had come back to reality thanks to the stench of something horrifically familiar. And then he'd actually looked down to investigate just what it was Hammer had deemed fit to feed him. And been horrified. Traumatic memories of his past flashed before his eyes at the sight of the tinned mush.

"_Are you bloody kidding me? Why'd you buy a whole wanking case of it?"_

"_Theresa-"_

"_Sod Theresa! She's blind! And apparently unable to smell, taste, or otherwise do anything that eating involves! Have you opened one of those cans? I ate a boot last night just so I wouldn't have to ingest that…that! A boot!"_

"_Yeh ate a boot?"_

"_Yes Steve, I ate a boot. Doesn't that tell you anything? You should go demand your money back, so you can stock this damn stall with edible food! That way when the coot tries to feed me more things made from rotting animal eyes I don't have to eat footwear!"_

"_I can't Sparrow, the trader's long gone. And yeh know how they avoid this place like the plague-"_

"_Yea because they know some creepy old lady who gets her jollies by forcing children to eat chicken brains watches them from the trees. Can't you go fishing or something? I mean, we live on a lake!"_

"_Why can't you go fishing? Might be easier. On everyone."_

"_Can't. I'm not fast enough to catch the little buggers, and after the last time when I nearly drowned, no way am I ever going in there again."_

"_Well, I guess yeh just gotta suffer."_

"_Nooooooo!" Sparrow howled to the sky as he fell to his knees in a dramatic show of displeasure_

"Sparrow! Sparrow, stop yelling! What the hell's gotten into you?"

The hero took a gasping breath, looking wildly about and trying to remember that no, he was no longer trapped in a gypsy camp eating clothing because the people who were supposed to be feeding him were idiots.

He looked down at the traitorous hand that still held the can. That would definitely be the one replaced by a hook.

With no explanation, he jumped up, and hurled the can as far as he could into the woods.

"Care to explain what that was all about?"

He plopped back down onto the ground, feeling much better now that the evil substance was out of his sight. "What what was all about?"

"Oh, you know, the screaming, and the hurling of perfectly good food into the woods."

"_Perfectly good food? _Are you _daft _woman? That "food" as you call it is anything but! Shoes taste better. Shoes, Hammer!"

The Hero of Strength gaped at him.

"My dear boy, you cannot be seriously telling us you've ingested _shoes_ of all things."

Sparrow turned to Reaver, jabbing the knife he still clutched pointedly at the pirate. "I have and I will, so long as the only other option is that hell spawned food."

"I see. I wonder what other options you would be willing to take over either of those two 'delicacies'. If you're interested, I have something high in protein that's more than guaranteed to fill you up."

Sparrow stared at the smug mug of the pirate, about to ask what it was and if it was easier to chew then laces when Hammer interrupted, thus unwittingly keeping the conversation from spiraling out of control down a hill.

"Sparrow, it was just Spam. Everyone in Albion eats it."

Reaver sniffed in distaste, muttering "Everyone most certainly does _not_" under his breath and eyeing his own unopened tin.

"Good for them, they can have it. In fact, next time we're in town you can give my share to Obo the Hobo."

Hammer growled. "I already told you, you aren't allowed to give him anything else. Remember what happened last time?"

Sparrow scoffed. "T'was but a fluke! Besides, I already named him, that means he's mine and I can do whatever I like."

"You can't own another person, Sparrow!"

"Oh I beg to differ."

"Not helping Reaver."

"Too late, two against one, I win, new topic. Mainly, who's goin' fishin'?"

"Do you see a place to fish _anywhere _around us?"

"Best go find one then huh?"

"I'm _not _traipsing about the woods looking for a pond _in the dark_ just because you've decided now of all times to be picky."

"But Ham-_mer_, I'm hun_-gry_! And I didn't _just _have an epiphany about the wanker food of wankeriness, Skorm's boogies and I have a long standing history. A traumatizing, shoe-filled history."

"…No."

"But-"

"Why don't _you_ go wander about in the dark looking for a place to fish? Without a fishing pole I might add."

"Why would fish need a pole?"

"Are you being serious right now?"

Sparrow nodded, waving about his knife for emphasis. "I'm so serious I'm seriously-_in the name of Avo's great powdered wig!"_

"What's wrong _now_?"

Sparrow fake wept at the injustice of the universe. "It's on my knife…"


	15. the hobbe conspiracy

**the hobbe conspiracy  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Dog<p>

* * *

><p>With a final swing and a stab, the last of the hobbe hoard fell dead at his feet. Taking a deep breath, Sparrow leant on his sword, surveying the mess he'd made in the middle of some guy's cornfield. There were at least 20 of the little buggers, all of varying shapes and sizes. He toed one of the larger ones, a peculiar thought popping into his head.<p>

"How in the name of Avo's frilly undergarments was this ever once a kid? The thing was taller than _me_ and at _least _twice as wide…"

He exchanged a glance with fluffnugget, who also seemed to be contemplating the hobbes. Granted, the mutt may have just been hungry, but it was just as likely he was having a good ol' philosophical debate with himself. Wasn't it?

"Either Hammer lost a hoard of siblings, or these things have been festering like that moldy cheese I found in the Guild Cave that one time."

Sparrow looked from the scattered pile of meat, to Oakfield proper, back to the meat sacks. A frown crossed his face, another oddity popping into his head.

"How many bloody kids do these people lose? And why do they insist on breeding like rabbits? Are they secretly trying to strengthen the Hobbe population for some idiotic world domination plot? Hm, maybe they just enjoy having a reason to summon me out here and boss me around. Or maybe…it's both of those things?"

Fluffnugget gave him a look stating quite clearly he was descending into one of his paranoia driven bouts of conspiratorial created psychosis, and that he should please cease and desist now and save them both a lot of trouble.

Sparrow returned with his own patented look of I'm not bloody listening to you, there's people trying to turn me into a sex slave and overthrow the world.

The mutt hung his head, mentally stealing himself for another week of running around scaring old women and recruiting children.

The hero pulled his sword from the ground, shaking off the clump of earth attached to the end of it (which was also more than likely out to get him as well, it was quite obvious really.) Eyes wide, Sparrow made a mad dash toward Rookridge, intent on grabbing Hammer at the inn and warning her of this newest development.

Fluffnugget woofed in exasperation, taking off after his master. Someone had to keep the hero from setting random people, and himself, on fire after all.


	16. balverine sightings

**balverine sightings  
><strong>Sparrow, Hammer  
>Fable II<p>

* * *

><p>"Sparrow, are you listening to anything I'm saying?"<p>

"Mm."

"Really."

"Mm."

"Right, so what happened to the boy?"

"Mm."

"Sparrow!"

He glanced back at her, blinking as if he'd just come out of a daze. "Eaten."

"What?"

"By witches."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"The boy. Was eaten. By witches."

"Glad to see you pay attention."

He flashed her a grin and went back to dodging rocks that littered the path. Bleached white rocks in peculiar shapes, she noted.

"If you'd been listening, you'd know he was killed because he was a balverine."

"Witches eat balverines?"

"What? No, Sparrow-"

"Would they turn into balverines themselves then? And what do balverines even taste like? Chicken?"

Sparrow pondered on this greatest of conundrums while Hammer face-palmed behind him, thoroughly giving up. You see, Sparrow had never actually seen a balverine in real life, so he only had pictures to guide his knowledge-quest. They weren't helping much.

"Look, Sparrow! There's one of the buggars!"

The hero stopped in his tracks, train of thought derailing as he looked wildly about for Hammer's discovery. He could have looked to see where she was pointing, but he had other, more important things on his mind. Like how hard it'd be to lick one without losing his tongue.

Finally, after Hammer had literally grabbed him and pointed him in the right direction, he laid eyes on his first balverine. His heart beat faster, his breath caught, his eyes glazed over.

It was love at first sight.

He spun about to face Hammer, grabbing her and trying (and failing) to shake her. Startled, Hammer took a step back.

"What's gotten into you?"

The grin on his face was almost painful, his body seeming to be unable to still its ecstatic wiggling. "Can we keep him?"

"But it's a balverine!"

"I know! _I want one_!"


	17. respawning

**Respawning  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>"-and thanks to us, this little piece of road is just a little bit safer."<p>

Sparrow could contain it no longer; the laughter he'd been holding back shoved its way through his clenched lips.

Hammer, not in the least liking it when Sparrow laughed at her, and quite unafraid to punish him for it, grabbed her fellow hero by his garish dreadlocks and yanked.

"How was that even the least bit funny?"

Sparrow, quite unfazed by the awkward position she'd forced his neck into, smirked up at her.

"Sure it is. 'A little bit safer'. Brilliant joke, that."

"I was being _serious_."

"Oh."

The smirk instantly left his face, a look of worry now directed at her.

"I think it's time I told you something."

She let him go. "About what?"

"Respawning."

"Wha-"

"You see, when you kill something, like those balverines, they're gone for now yea. But what happens if you leave?"

Before she could even come up with an answer, he'd continued.

"They come back."

"No they don't."

"Sure they do! Same place and everything!"

"You're kidding."

"Nope! Never been more serious in my life!"

"Right, like the time you told me the grass was plotting to stab us in our sleep and then smother Theresa with our dirty socks."

Sparrow waved her off. "That was a completely different issue and holy unimportant at this juncture." Although that didn't stop him from eyeing the grass warily.

"Still a load of toss, just like this respawning thing you're on about."

"You say that now, but don't come crying to me when you wake up dead at the hands of nature's rebellious rug."

She stared at him, pondering on the term 'wake up dead', and wondering how that worked. Then she realized asking would only bring about more questions, as well as a headache.

"I can prove it to you, you know."

"Oh really, and how do you plan to do that?"

He pointed back the way they came. "Go back; see how safe it really is."

"As much as I'd love to waste more time out here, I think I'll have to pass."

Sparrow shrugged. "Suit yourself. You'll realize I'm right eventually."

Hammer watched him saunter away, frowning. She cast a quick glance behind her, and could have sworn she saw eyes. "Sparrow…"

"Come on miss 'I love to waste time', I want to see were the monsters over there spawn from! I was thinking of setting up booby-traps!"

Despite how much his cheery morbidity creeped her out, she'd pick him over fighting disease ridden monsters alone any day. Well, most days anyway.

Especially if he somehow happened to be right.


	18. sunlight

**sunlight  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Garth<p>

* * *

><p>Sparrow watched the entrance of the spire with wide eyes. He couldn't even remember what was on the other side. Garth came to stand at his side.<p>

"In a few moments, we will be rid of this place."

"And then?"

"And then we will truly be free."

Sparrow's eyes danced down to the fore of the ship, watching the line of light that appeared as the ship passed through onto the other side. "No, we will never truly be free. The chain lengthens, the cage takes on another form, and we smile and accept it, accept the little bit of extra room we've been given and call it freedom. But it's still a lie, still a cage by any other name…"

Garth blinked, stunned into silence by the softly spoken words. It was quite unlike the Sparrow he'd come to know, who spouted nonsense and insisted on naming everything and everyone. He seemed quite sane now, actually, and it was a little disconcerting.

Sparrow continued to watch the light's journey towards them, a small frown sliding onto his face. "Garth, what is that? That light? I can't remember."

The mage frowned, concerned at the sincerity of the question. "It's the sun, Sparrow. Surely you haven't forgotten the world outside these walls?"

"Sometimes it's hazy…I used to remember. But I think I made myself forget. It's easier not to miss something you don't remember."

The sun was inches from their boots now, Sparrow's eyes widening as it began to climb over them.

Garth closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth that began to seep into his skin. The scent of the Spire began to fade, replaced by the clean, natural scent of the ocean on a warm, peaceful day.

Sparrow, however, was far less pleased. Squinting, he glanced at Garth, before turning to scowl at the sky. And was blinded.

"Arg, bloody hell! Why's it so damned bright! Garth, turn off this sun thing, I think it's melting my eyes right out of my skull!"

As Garth looked on, Sparrow collapsed to the deck, curling into the fetal position and burying his head in his arms.

"Make it stop! I want to go back, turn the bloody ship around! It burns, it _burns_! Help me Garth, save me with your witchcraft!"

Sighing, Garth nudged the gypsy with his foot. "Get up Sparrow, you'll be fine once your eyes adjust. We have more pressing matters to deal with."

"More pressing then my slow and agonizing death?"

"Yes. From the sounds of it, the men we've rescued are arguing over who knows the least about sailing a ship."

"Is that bad?"

"I would assume so, yes."

"_Fine_. Just gimme a minute to gouge out my eyes…"

"Sparrow!"

"Wh_aaaaat_?"


	19. the return to oakfield

**the return to oakfield  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Garth, Theresa, Dog<p>

* * *

><p>"Land!"<p>

With no dignity what so ever, Sparrow promptly planted his face on the dock, showering the dirty boards with sloppy kisses.

"Really Sparrow, it wasn't that bad."

"Yes, it was. I can't believe _no one_ knew how to work a bloody ship! I thought we were all going to die! And after all that work, drowning was definitely not on my to-do list."

He pulled himself back up as Garth waved off the ship full of probably soon to be pirates. He wondered how long they'd last before they got eaten by a kraken.

"I highly doubt you would have drowned-"

"Course I woulda! I mean, I don't know how many times I was forcibly deterred from just swimming to the Spire because of that very reason! Theresa may be a crazy old bat, but considering how old she is she must spout some sort of truthfulness every so often."

Garth looked at him in that way adults, and his sister, had often looked at him in the past: like he was a loony little kid they weren't sure how to respond to. Sparrow crossed his arms and returned the look.

"Woof woof!"

Sparrow spun, completely forgetting about the petulant battle he'd been attempting to start. "Fluffnugget!" He rushed to meet the shaggy mutt bounding towards them down the dock, dropping to his knees and opening his arms just as they reached one another. Fluffnugget leapt squarely onto his chest with enough force to crush a child, toppling the hero over. Laughing despite the sudden lack of air in his lungs, he tried half-heartedly to fend off the squirming beast currently slobbering all over his face.

"Friend of yours?"

Finally managing to roll the dog off his chest, Sparrow pet him into submission long enough to climb back to his feet. "Yep! This here's fluffnugget. Fluffnugget, say hello to Garth. He's the crazy old man that blew shit up so we could escape and commander a ship!"

Fluffnugget barked a hello, and then promptly went back to running happy circles around his master.

Garth chuckled. "I must say, I didn't picture you as one for pets."

Sparrow scoffed. "He's not a pet, he's family!"

Fortunately for both of them, the veiled insult went completely over Sparrow's head.

"Greetings, Hero. Garth."

Sparrow visibly jumped, nearly tripping over the dog winding between his legs as he spun about.

Theresa was standing behind them, smiling in the creepy way she always did. Neither of them had heard her approach, which still annoyed the hell out of Sparrow, despite how often it happened.

"I'm sorry, but have we met?"

When Theresa didn't respond, Garth looked to Sparrow, who sighed melodramatically. "Why do I always have to tell people you're a loon who likes to watch them while they sleep? You ain't a bloody mute, Theresa!"

She chuckled, although it wasn't really a humorous noise. "I see your time in the Spire hasn't changed you, Sparrow. Ten years in a place such as that is enough to change most completely, but I see you are the exception, as you always seem to be. For once, I am glad."

Sparrow's jaw literally dropped. "Ten years? You sure? I know you can't read calendars and all, but really? Wouldn't fluffnugget be pushing up doggy daisies? Wouldn't you have more wrinkles? Wouldn't Lucien's advanced aging powers have put him in a wheelchair by now? Unless…_He really is a vampire!_" He grabbed Theresa by the shoulders and shook her as best he could. She may have been ancient, but she was as hard to push around as Hammer. Like a tree. "Theresa! Lucien's a vampire! I've cracked the case! Quick! We need garlic and stakes and water, and and, Hammer! She was a monk! She can bless the water! And silver bullets, and fire, and fluffy kittens! A whole bleedin' army of fluffy kittens!"

The frown that appeared on Theresa's face was apocalyptic, and promised much pain if he didn't release her. He, of course, ignored it. Garth, however, was frightened for both of their safety, and attempted to pry the hero off her.

"Sparrow, calm down, you're being ridiculous."

The gypsy spun, clamping his hands onto Garth's shoulders and attempted to shake him as well. "No! I'm not! I was right Garth! I _told_ you he was a vampire! That's why that word was put on the 'Reasons You Will Be Punished' wall! That's why Larry was fed to Steve!"

With some difficulty, Garth managed to pry Sparrow off his person. "Idiocy. That guard was _not_ fed to a Kraken. And Lucien is _not _a vampire with the power to control sea monsters."

Sparrow sighed, going limp in the mage's grasp and momentarily throwing him off guard. "Right. Of course. How could you understand? You were locked in that swirly blue cave thing the whole time. Don't worry; I won't hold it against you. I'll even keep the 'I-told-you-so's to a minimum later."

Nodding sagely, Sparrow twisted out of Garth's grasp and turned to face Theresa. Her expression was back to the usual bemused one she always sported around him. "Garth is right, Sparrow. Put this nonsense behind you, or you will fail in your quest. Here, take your things and go fetch Hammer. I believe she is at Rookridge Inn, awaiting news of your arrival."

Sparrow took the offered magic bag of stuff he'd nearly forgotten he'd had, eyeing up Theresa suspiciously. "What, you haven't gloated to her yet that you were right or whatever?"

"No."

"And you won't warn her I'm coming?"

"No. She will be unaware of your arrival until you choose to appear before her."

A mischievous look lit up the hero's face as his mind started its plotting.

Theresa turned to Garth, who looked vaguely concerned. "Now Garth, come with me. We have much to discuss."

The mage glanced from the offered hand, to Sparrow, back to the hand. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Theresa's smile widened just enough for it to be noticeable, sending a chill up Garth's spine. "No."


	20. hammer hunting

**hammer hunting  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer, Dog<p>

* * *

><p>Sparrow shushed the disapproving fluffnugget, motioning for him to hide outside while he enacted his plan. With a huff, the dog plopped down onto his haunches, watching as his master crept into the inn.<p>

There were just enough people for him to slink around, eyes constantly flitting between his goal, and the way to get there. Crouching, he ducked behind the bar, motioning the bewildered bartender to be silent. Before the man could blow his cover, Sparrow ninja-climbed onto the bar, eyes fixed on the back of a familiar red, dreaded head.

Hammer, who was leaning back against the bar, sipping a beer, was none the wiser.

"Hraaaawr!"

Sparrow leapt, crashing into the startled Hero of Strength with enough force to send them both crashing to the ground. The bottle shattered beside them, soaking the two in frothy beer as the other occupants scattered.

"_Bloody Hell!"_

Hammer attempted to hit her assailant, fist hitting air when he moved out of the way, having expected such violence. The sound of laughter calmed her enough to stop long enough to take stock of what the hell was going on. "What the-_Sparrow_?"

He smirked down at her from his perch on her stomach, quite pleased with himself. "Who else would it be? The Hobbe Fairy? You're a bit old for her to be after you."

"Skorm's frilly nappies, it really is you! You bloody sod!" Before he could remove himself from her reach, she snatched him in a bone crushing hug.

"Bleeding hell woman, my spleen!"

She released him after one final squeeze, the gypsy then promptly re-inflating his lungs and falling over.

"Avo you gave me a start! To be fair I wasn't expecting you until, well, at all really. I mean, Theresa's been going on nonstop since you left about 'her vision of the Hero's safe return', but, well, it's been ten years Sparrow. Ten years! I'd almost lost hope…Not to mention my sanity. Honestly, there were a few times when I nearly smacked Theresa, and a few more when I was seriously considering sending the grass to get her…But you're back!"

Sparrow promptly rolled out of the way as Hammer lunged to crush him with another hug, leaping unsteadily to his feet only to crash into a poorly placed table and end up back on the floor where he started, albeit more soaked as the upended table saw fit to rain half full pints down around him. "Bleedin' gravity, I'll conquer you yet…"

Hammer, utterly un-phased by the scene they'd caused, pulled herself into a more comfortable sitting position, eyeing up her friend currently grumbling about the lies of gravity. "Jeeze Sparrow, what are you wearing? I mean, you look good considering, but I think I liked you in girls clothes better."

"I was in a hurry, wanted to get here before Theresa decided to foil my grand surprise. I'll change eventually, but until then no worries. You'll barely notice the smell after a while. They only gave us one set of Guard clothes, see."

Hammer wrinkled her nose. "Right. I'm surprised you didn't just decide to run around in your skivvies."

Sparrow's face went oddly blank. "My what now?"

Hammer, catching onto the hint, quickly changed the subject. "So, uhm, how many guys did it take to shave your head?"

His hands went instantly to his stubbly head, tears forming in his eyes as he remembered his loss. "_Fernando! Nooooooo! Come back to meeeee!"_

"Uh, Sparrow? Who's Fernando?"

"Yolanda's fiancé…"

"And who then, is Yolanda?"

Sparrow sniffed. "Oh Yolanda, you were so young! And Jerry, poor sweet, stupid Jerry! Gone, all gone! They're dead, Hammer. _Dead_."

"I'm still not following."

"You didn't know them; I met them on the ship to the Spire…"

"Right. I'm sorry, but what do fellow Crucible winners have to do with the shaving of your head, exactly?"

"They weren't _people_ Hammer. They were my _friends._"

"Your…Friends."

"Yes, my tiny, silent, itchy friends."

She thought she was starting to understand, but just to make sure…."And they went away when they cut all your hair off?"

Sparrow nodded.

"Your friends were lice?"

"_No_. They were _fleas_."

"Oh, so sorry."

"Good. Now, as for your question,"

Hammer blinked in surprise. Normally she'd have to repeat whatever she asked him originally when he went off on a tangent. Apparently he wasn't as unaffected by the Spire as she'd first thought.

"Three. Although really it was more like ten, considering how big the two holding me down were. After that though, they just gave me these cookies that would magically shave my head. And forget things…."

"Cookies. That shaved you. Right."

"Why are you doubting me? I already told you about it."

"You did? When? I haven't seen you in ten years!"

"In the letter."

"What letter?"

"The one I sent you. Bob's dead by the way, case you were wondering, so you don't have to worry about making him tea or anything."

"Sparrow, believe me when I tell you, I have no bloody clue what you're on about."

"Sure you do-wait. You didn't get my letter?"

"No!"

"Really?"

"Really really."

"Those _bastards!_ I _knew _I couldn't trust Filmor."

"Who?"

"The mailman-thing-whatever in the spire. Which is where we must go. Now. To right this injustice! Stealing mail is a crime, Hammer!"

"Is it then?"

"Yes! Well, maybe. If it isn't it should be! And he shall pay! And also give me back the five gold I gave him to deliver my letter! As well as his kneecaps. They'd make good doorknobs I wager…"

"Sparrow, you can't go back to the Spire over a little mail fraud-"

"I can and I will and you shant stop me!"

"And what are you gonna do, swim there?"

"I'll beat the Crucible again."

"They won't let you go back; I think it's a onetime thing."

"Well then you'll beat the crucible, and sneak me aboard the ship!"

"_There is no ship, Hero. You and Garth saw to that."_

They both jumped at the sound of Theresa's voice coming from the guild seal in Sparrow's bag. "Stop eavesdropping for ways to crush my dreams, woman! I'll find a way!"

"_Doubtful. Hammer, continue searching out our next Hero. Sparrow, clean yourself up and take some time to reacquaint yourself with Albion. I believe Barnum is waiting for you in Westcliff."_

"Don't change the subject! I'll have my revenge if it's the last thing I do!'

"_Very well, let it be the last thing you do. Now go and do as I say. Lucien has been made aware of your presence and time grows short."_

"Good! I hope the bloody wanker knows it was me that spilled his secret to everyone in the Spire. They may not be able to say it out loud but they _know_."

"_For the last time, Lucien is not a vampire."_

"Lies! Lies and propaganda!"

"_-sigh- Hammer, if you would be so kind?"_

"Don't go changing the subject you fake blind-umpf!"

"Come on, you mouthy little ponce, don't want to aggravate the witch lady too much."

"Put me down!"

Hammer shifted the squirming Hero to a more comfortable position on her shoulder, giving the barman a semi-apologetic smile as she ducked out of the inn. And nearly tripped over fluffnugget.

"Ha, serves you right! Now drop me immediately or I shall be forced to do something we both regret!"

"_Fine."_ She dropped him without warning, squarely on his head.

"Ow-_wu_…That hu-rt…."

"You wanted down."

"But not on my _head_. It's _sensitive_."

"That hard thing? Not sure I believe you."

"Why is it always the _head_ people insist I land on? Lucien, Theresa, that one kid at the gypsy camp I not-so-accidentally let drown-"

"So you're saying you've been dropped on your head more than a few times?"

"Yea, why?"

"Explains a lot, really. Well, come on then, you want to walk you gotta keep up!"

"Ugh, just gimme a minute. Or ten…"

With a sigh, Hammer reluctantly turned about and scooped her dazed friend off the ground. "Really, ten minutes back and I'm already dragging you around, just like old times. And here I was missing you. Don't know what that was all about, must have had a fever…"


	21. bar night

**bar night  
><strong>Fable II  
>Reaver, Sparrow, Garth, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>Must <em>we?"

Sparrow flashed Reaver a reassuring grin, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "No worries mate, in and out."

The pirate sighed, watching defeated as Sparrow sauntered into the tavern. He was seriously considering waiting outside like a petulant child, but the crack of lightning overhead made up his mind for him.

Once inside, Reaver was assaulted by the smell of stale beer and dirty farmers, making him reconsider taking his chances out in the storm.

Oh how he hated Oakfield.

"Anoth-hic-nother round!"

He winced, eyes seeking out the giant woman in the gloom. She was occupying space near the bar, table covered in tankards and bottles, a mismatch group of people near her cheering her on. He could see Sparrow standing at her side, apparently attempting to get her up and out for the night.

And failing.

Hammer pushed the hero away, slurring a cheer as the bartender dropped off another round for her and her 'friends'.

With a sigh, Reaver plopped down at an unoccupied table. It was going to be another horrifically long night, one of many since he found himself a part of the ragtag group assembled by Sparrow and his blind dictator of a guardian.

"Blast…" Sparrow collapsed opposite him, weary gaze moving from Hammer to the bottle that had been shoved into his hands.

Catching his chin in his hand, Reaver gave Sparrow a sidelong glance. "In and out, hm?"

The gypsy stabbed a finger in his direction. "Don't even."

He watched his oh so classy companion tear the cork from the bottle with his teeth and take an ungodly large swig. "Why don't we cut our losses, find a cozy little room and _wile _away the time with something more enjoyable?"

Sparrow sighed, slumping further into his chair. "I don't think it's safe to leave her unsupervised. Last time I did, the bar caught fire and Theresa bitched for three hours."

He wrinkled his nose at the thought of listening to the old hag for more than three minutes, let alone three hours. True, he could leave, but his options were slim now that he was part of their little fugitive group. And truth be told, Sparrow was the only one he could stand to be around for more than short periods of time alone.

With a sigh, he motioned to the bottle in the gypsy's grip with his free hand. "If we are to be stuck here for the remainder of the night, the least you could do is share."

With a raised brow and a slight smirk, Sparrow slid the bottle across the table. "Cheers."

Xxxxxxxxx

"Ha, full house!"

Sparrow threw down the cards in his hand, sending a few skittering. Reaver scowled, tossing his own down in defeat. "Yes, yes, aren't you skilled. Now be a good boy and re-deal."

The gypsy gathered the cards to himself, shaking off a few that had managed to find their way into one of the many spills that had accumulated on their table. As per the rules of their game, Reaver poured himself another shot of the turpentine being sold as alcohol, downing it as fast as possible. This far in, and the stuff still tasted horrible.

Shuffling the deck and giggling like a child, Sparrow waggled his brows at the pirate, who very pointedly, and only with a little difficulty, took off his remaining boot. They both were running out of clothes to lose to their game, but neither cared much. Reaver was down to his trousers, Sparrow that plus a singular boot.

Neither knew, nor cared, where Hammer had gotten off to.

"Aite pirate, lessgo, round, eh, something…." Sparrow trailed off, squinting at the cards in his hand.

Reaver chuckled, although what was funny, he wasn't quite sure. The numbers on the cards were doing a merry little trot, making it hard for him to discern which was what, but after some intense squinting they complied with his whims.

Mostly.

"_Damn_."

Sparrow snickered. "Giving up so soon, oh great pirate king?"

He snorted, letting the cards become unfocused as he absently moved them about. "Heavens no. I'm merely declaring my distaste for your abysmal card dealing skills."

"Same thing that, ain't it?"

Shrugging, Reaver traded a few cards, his prospects looking only slightly better. But slightly was better than not, he supposed. "Two pair."

Sparrow took a moment to squint at his opponents cards before dropping his own with a devilish grin. "Three of a kind!"

"Are you _sure _you're not cheating, Sparrow love?"

The gypsy slumped onto the table. "I can barely see the cards well enough to read them, let alone cheat." He pushed the last bottle towards the pirate with his index finger, distracting both of them with the noise it made as it scraped along the wood.

A put upon sigh and Reaver downed another shot, making a face as the liquid hit his stomach. "I'm surprised either of us can see at all, the amount of kerosene we've ingested." He pushed the bottle back to the table's center.

"S'not kerosene. I think." Sparrow squinted at the bottle label.

"Semantics."

Sparrow glanced absently at Reaver, who had pushed his chair back with an almighty heave, using the table to balance himself as he stood. Flashing the gypsy a cheeky grin, he began undoing the ties of his trousers.

"Ha, I win!"

He paused long enough in his undoing to flash his undergarments at the hero. "Don't count your hobbes until they're hatched, gypsy boy. Or whatever it is they say in this _charming_ little hole."

Taking a pull off the bottle, despite having won, the hero shrugged.

"I was wondering where you had gone off to."

Both of them visibly jumped, Sparrow choking and spilling liquor in his lap, Reaver just barely catching himself from falling over. Standing next to their table, no _looming_ over their table, was a shimmering, blue clad man.

"Garth! Why're you out s'late?"

The mage glanced down at the half-naked Sparrow with barely concealed distaste. "It's eight in the morning, Sparrow."

Gaping, Sparrow looked to Reaver, who in turn glanced around to the nearest window. "My my, when on earth did it get so bright out?"

"The sun rose two hours ago."

He and the gypsy exchanged a look, smirks appearing on both their faces when they came to the silent conclusion that the game would indeed be finished. Undoing the last tie, Reaver let his trousers fall.

"What exactly are the two of you doing?"

"Why isn't it obvious my good mage?" He kicked his pants up into his hand, folding them before deftly draping them over his chair with the rest of his clothes. Sparrow may not have cared where he threw his clothes, but Reaver would be damned if his got full of whatever it was that was sticky on the floor.

"Let me rephrase that. Why are you taking your clothes off in the middle of a bar?"

"Why not?" Both Sparrow and Reaver replied in unison, breaking out in childish laughter the second they looked at one another.

The pirate sat as gracefully as he could, motioning for Sparrow to hand him the cards out of his reach.

Garth sighed, but both of them ignored it. "Where's Hammer?"

Reaver didn't bother pausing in his shuffling to ask "Who?"

"_Hammer_."

"No need to get so touchy old man, don't want to have a heart attack in the middle of a bar do you? It would be most unseemly."

"Says the pirate sitting around in nothing but his undergarments."

"That, is another thing _entirely_." He dealt their hands as he spoke, never once bothering to glance at Garth. Truthfully, there was a chance that if he did, he'd break out into hysterics for no discernable reason.

"Now, if you're referring to the giantess we tracked here, and then failed miserably to persuade to leave, even with the threat of violence mind you, you are simply out of luck. It seems we lost track of her ages ago. Why don't you-Ha, royal bloody flush!" Reaver slapped his cards on the table, completely forgetting what it was he'd been talking about. Or that Garth was still looming over them like a displeased parent.

With a scowl, Sparrow threw his cards onto the table, taking another pull from the bottle before beginning his attempt to remove his remaining boot. "Now who's bloody cheatin'."

"Why, not _I_. But if you should feel the need to properly, ah, _interrogate _me, I'll come most willingly." He held his wrists up before him as if he was about to be cuffed, chuckling as Sparrow rolled his eyes then grabbed the table when the action made him dizzy.

"If the two of you don't mind, I'd rather not sit here and wait for one or both of you to get nude-"

"Then don't? I'm sure you have spells to brew, or potions to cast, or whatever it is you do-"

"So why don't you continue this latter and help me find Hammer, since that's what Theresa sent you here for in the first place."

"Oh yea…knew we were forgetting something…" Sparrow leant back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"If I recall correctly, which I do, we did find her. And unable to move her, found a way to occupy ourselves until she was finished with whatever it was she was doing."

"Getting drunk and…and seducing the bartender? I think that's what she was doing…" Sparrow furrowed his brow in thought, trying to recall through the haze the last time he'd bothered to see what she was up to.

Reaver kicked the table to get the gypsy's attention, motioning to the cards he'd shoved across the table. Sparrow blinked, then dutifully gathered them up and began once again shuffling.

That is, until Garth snatched them out of his hand.

"Put your clothes back on."

"Hey!"

"I've had to listen to Theresa lecture all last night, and much to my displeasure, all this morning. I'd rather not return without you three and receive another ear full."

He and Sparrow looked from Garth, to each other, to the bag Sparrow had shoved under the table. At some point during the night, they'd grown tired of having Theresa butt in and demand to know what they were doing, and so upon Reaver's suggestion had stuffed the Guild Seal as far into Sparrow's bottomless bag as it would go.

"Well?"

Sparrow gave Garth a critical, if slightly wavering, look. He, like Reaver, was obviously aware that the deck of cards had disappeared into the depths of the mage's robes, and neither of them currently stood a chance of getting them back. Heaving a melodramatic sigh, the gypsy pulled himself to his feat, grabbing the bottle as he went.

Reaver, seeing they were indeed defeated, went about the task of putting his pants back on. It turned out to be a hell of a lot of work. By the time he'd managed it, he'd already decided the rest of his clothing could wait until they stopped being confusing bastards.

As he stood, Sparrow held out the bottle to him. "Here. You lost, you finish it."

Reaver wrinkled his nose. "On technicality. That doesn't mean I lost, it means that the game was rudely ended before we could ascertain an actual winner. Besides, you touched it last, you drink it."

Scoffing, Sparrow moved around the table enough to shove the bottle into his hands, which grabbed it before he could demand they do otherwise. "No, you touched it last."

Reaver shoved it back at Sparrow, who also grabbed it, though just barely. "I think not."

Sparrow made to shove it back at Reaver, but this time he was ready, hands firmly at his side and in no way about to betray him. If it fell and shattered at their feet so be it, because he refused to ingest anymore.

Fortunately for him, and the maid who'd have to clean up their mess, Garth once again stepped in, pulling the bottle from Sparrow's hands and setting it loudly on the table between them. "There, problem solved. Now grab your things and help me find Hammer-"

"Ye talkin' bout the lass upstairs?"

"Perhaps."

"One's got the ginger snake hair, an' carries round tha' statue piece?"

Sparrow glanced at him, and they both broke down into a fit of hysteric laughter.

Garth sighed. "Yes, that sounds like her." He turned to them, lifting a hand to show off the sparks dancing between his fingers. "I suggest the two of you follow me and assist in waking her."

Despite the threat, it took nearly five minutes before either of them could still their laughter long enough to be of any use. It then took another five minutes to realize neither of them would be able to get dressed any further, another three to stuff their clothes in Sparrow's pack.

Mounting the stairs was a whole other issue entirely.

Barely halfway up and Sparrow fell backwards into Reaver, who just barely managed to keep both of them from falling, causing another bought of laughter. Only by clinging to one another and the banister did they manage the challenge of the staircase.

"Well that was most entertaining…" He gave Sparrow a squeeze for good measure, causing the hero to stumble against him.

Laughing, Sparrow stuck his tongue out at the staircase. "Vanquished! Vanquished, I say!"

Reaver reached for his pistol to shoot the staircase for good measure, only to remember it was somewhere amidst the clothes they'd given up on.

"Over here you two."

Stumbling, and using the wall to hold both himself and Sparrow upright, Reaver managed to make it to the proper room. "Why Garth, I didn't know you were into this sort of thing!"

The mage shot him a look. "I don't know what you're on about now, pirate, but I can assure you whatever it is you're thinking is untrue."

"Bit of a stiff innet 'e?" Sparrow whispered none too quietly into Reaver's ear. "Maybe ye'should get 'im drunk." The gypsy giggled as Reaver gave the wall a thoughtful look.

"You know, I honestly can't picture what that would look like…."

Garth, having already started ignoring them, strode over to the bed where Hammer was currently sprawled out, snoring like a bull. "Hammer. Hammer!" He shook her roughly, causing her to start and swat at him. Fortunately, Garth moved out of the way before he was thrown into a wall.

"Wha's, who's there?"

Hammer looked blearily around the room, taking in the displeased mage and the two using the doorframe to keep themselves upright as they laughed themselves hoarse. Completely ignoring Garth for the time being, Hammer focused in on the pirate and the gypsy. "Why aren't y'two wearin' clothes?"

Unable to stay upright any longer, Sparrow and Reaver slid to the floor, leaning against one another and clutching their stomachs as another bought of hysteria hit them.

Theresa didn't yet know it, but she was about to have a very long day.


	22. the last doll

**sparrow finally puts a name to the last doll  
><strong>Fable II  
>Reaver, Sparrow<p>

* * *

><p>Sparrow looked from the item in his hand, to the man standing before him. Back and forth his gaze went, comparing, calculating. So many similarities, despite the lack of finer detail present in his possession.<p>

"I'm sorry, but what _are _you doing?"

He held out the doll so Reaver could get a better look at it, pointing at it with a smirk. "It's you."

The pirate raised an elegant brow, striding over to get a better look. Sparrow handed it off, watching as it was turned over by its counterpart.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Pretty. Look, it even has the cape!" He tugged at said cape. On the doll, not the pirate.

Reaver frowned, if only slightly. "You wouldn't happen to be the one who made this, would you?"

Sparrow shook his head. "Nah, won it at the Westcliffe shooting range. You can keep it if you like; I have at least a dozen others."

"_How_ many?"

He shrugged. "Exactly? No idea. I didn't bother counting. Between these, and all the other ones, I have enough to fill a bloody room." As he spoke, he realized for the first time that maybe Hammer had been right in saying he was a loon that was bad with money. He'd have to apologize for stealing her shoes and throwing them into the Hero's Vault for the Hollowmen.

Reaver was again turning the doll over in his hands. "And you won it. At a shooting range."

"Yeeeea. To be honest I, had no idea who it was supposed to be. S'why I still have all of 'em. I didn't know whose house to leave 'em in. Ah, I mean, who to gift them to." He corrected both his grammar, and his statement as subtly as he could, though it wasn't very.

"Hm." Reaver tossed the doll to the girl currently painting his portrait. She caught it, hugging it to her chest and smiling. The pirate promptly put a bullet through the thing's head, which just so happened to be resting over the girl's lung.

Sparrow blinked at the carcass now sprawled, bleeding, on the fancy rug. Good thing said rug happened to be red to begin with.

"If I should happen to find more of these _things_ left about my manor, I shall be _most_ displeased."

Sparrow, quite unbothered by Reaver's extravagant threat, turned to him with a grin. "I can't believe I never thought of that!"

"Hm?"

"Using them as targets."

Reaver raised a brow. "Sub-par artists?"

"No, that I thought of. I was talking about the dolls."

Reaver glanced at the bloodied stuffing that had once paraded around as him. "I can't imagine why."


	23. forgotten plans

a/n: just popping in to say thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, alerted, whatever. And a special shout-out to Skreech as well; Thanks for all the love! lol. Carry on.

**forgotten plans  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Reaver, Garth, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>"Would you <em>stop<em> that?" Reaver laughed, smacking Sparrow with one of the decorative pillows he had for whatever reason.

Laughing, Sparrow had to grab the top of the couch to keep from falling to the floor. For whatever reason, he'd decided that couch surfing was a marvelous idea, and so had attempted it. Now however, his balance had decided it needed a break, and so Sparrow fell back onto the couch, half in Reaver's lap.

The pirate flinched, swatting the gypsy good naturedly. "Do I look like a pillow?"

"Bit yea." Sparrow grabbed for the pipe in Reaver's hand, only to have it moved just out of reach.

Reaver made a tutting noise. "What do we say?"

"Gimme the damn pipe or I'll hit you where it hurts?"

The pirate handed over the pipe with an exasperated sigh, pushing the hero from his lap after. Sparrow, unaffected by his sudden meeting with the floor, simply hauled himself back onto the cushions. Albeit upside down, legs dangling over the back of the couch.

"Wasn't there something that required your attention?"

Sparrow puffed thoughtfully on the pipe. "Don't remember. Couldn't have been important though."

"Hm, apparently." He patted the gypsy absently on the stomach where his shirt had ridden up.

Passing the pipe back, Sparrow glanced around what he could see of the room from his position. "You know what we need? Liquor, that's _not_ kerosene."

"My dear boy, I couldn't agree with you more."

**-Meanwhile, in Garth's castle in Brightwood-**

"Where the bloody hell is that git?"

"Now Hammer, I'm sure he's on his way-"

"Oh like hell he is! You don't know him as well as I do, Garth. If he's not where he should be half an hour early and covered in blood, he's not going to show up at all. He's probably secreted himself away somewhere and completely forgotten about what he's supposed to be doing."

Sighing, Garth came to stand next to Hammer, leaning against the stone rail of the expansive, over-exaggerated porch. "As much as I hate to say it, you're more than likely right. Although I'm much more accustomed to him being early and covered in blood. Ever since he met Reaver-"

"That's it!"

Garth jumped as Hammer slammed her fist down next to him. "What?"

"That bloody pirate! I'd wager anything that's where the sod's gotten off to!"

"Hammer-"

"I'll be back, with _both_ those damned gits!"

Sighing, Garth buried his face in his arms, listening to the fading footfalls of the only female hero among them. Not that her being a woman would in any way save Sparrow (or Reaver, if they happened to be in the same place) from the pain her wrath would bring.

"How on earth did I get roped into this madness…."


	24. touching

**touching  
><strong>Fable II  
>Sparrow, Theresa, Garth, Reaver, Hammer, Guard, Old Ladynpc<p>

* * *

><p>"Don't you touch me!"<p>

"What?" Sparrow looked around, to make sure the old woman was actually talking to him.

"You heard me you filthy, perverted lay-about!"

He frowned. That was the third person that day to call him that, and he had no idea why. Yes, he'd spent the morning sunbathing nude on the grass near the docks, and yes it had been a few days since his last legitimate bath(and really, blood was hard to get out without proper washing) but really.

"I didn't touch you."

"Yes you did, yes you did! I felt it!"

"I did not!"

"Guards! Guards!"

A guard appeared behind him, alerting Sparrow to his presence with a menacing hand clamping down on his shoulder. "What's goin' on 'ere?"

"He touched me inappropriately! I was just walking along, minding my own business and-"

"You crazy old bat, I haven't had my hands anywhere _near_ your inappropriate places! Have you gone bleedin' senile?"

The hand tightened on his shoulder, the guard pulling him back a bit to get a better look at him. "'Ey now, weren't you the one wot caused a scene on the bridge th's'mornin'?"

Sparrow pretended to look offended. "I'll have you know I haven't been on that bridge all day!"

The guard looked at him thoughtfully. "Tha' may be so, but if I recall, there was a feller down below on the grass by the docks whot started it. Kinda looked like you."

"Why were you look-I mean, you have no proof it was me, and anyway, how can you tell? S'awfully far away 'n all."

"Hm, you bring h'up a good point. Only one way t'know for sure. Strip."

"Exactlt-wait, what now?"

"Strip."

"what do you mean?"

"I mean, take off your clothes so we can see if you're the 'disturber of the peace' from earlier."

"And how the hell does my getting naked have anything to do with that?"

The guard grinned. "Tan lines."

"But I don't-"And then he got it. "Oh. _Oh_."

"C'mon then!"

Sparrow twisted away as the gloved hand reached for his pants. "Bloody hell! Rape! _Rape_! Fire! Troll! Jack of Bla-Stop touching me there! You loony pervert, get your hands away from my privates! Theresa! Theresa help! I need an adult!"

"Stop yellin' yeh ponce, and take off your clothes already!"

"_How am I a ponce when you're trying to strip me down in front of an audience?"_

"Cut your bloomin' hair, you look like a woman!" The wonderful old lady threw in her sorta-kinda-random two cents.

"Shut up lady! Theeeereeeesaaaaa! I'll do it! You know I will! Even though you told me not to because they won't let me back in Bowerstone I'll do it!"

"_Hero, do not let your emotions get the better of you. Shocking the guard will not amount to anything more than fines and community service, there will be no gain."_

"Haven't you been listening? He's trying to take my clothes off and touch me in weird places! In public! What kind of blind eavesdropping ninja loon are you?"

"_Sparrow-"_

The hero shrieked like a girl. "No means no!" Gathering enough electrical current in his fist to inflict crippling pain, Sparrow punched the guard as hard as he could, letting the will spell go on contact.

Twitching violently, the guard loosened his grip enough for Sparrow to break free, bolting past the now freaking out old woman who'd started it all. He didn't even bother doing up the clothes the guard had managed to get undone, choosing instead to race as fast as he could to Bowerstone's exit partially naked.

**-Later, at the Guild Cave**-

"Hey Sparrow! Why was Theresa-Oh!" Hammer blushed as she caught sight of him and his state of disarray.

Reaver, curious, also looked around at the newly appeared Gypsy, whose clothes were half torn off. He chuckled. "My my, having trouble with the admirers are we?"

He shook his head, too winded from the crazed running and traumatizing events to properly form a snippy comeback.

"Sparrow? What happened, are you alright?" Garth offered the gypsy his chair at the old table, frowning when Sparrow collapsed into it and hid his face.

"lfhjmnba"

"I'm sorry; I didn't quite get that, could you speak a little louder?"

"Or, you know, stop trying to smother yourself whilst you speak."

"Reaver, leave him alone or I'll-"

"You'll what, do _that_ to me?" He gestured at Sparrow.

"Enough, all of you. Sparrow has caused quite the commotion today, and needs to deal with the consequences."

"They started it! The old biddy accusin' me of touching her, then getting' the guard to try to strip me and molest me-"

"What?" The three other hero's asked in unison. Garth turned to Theresa. "Is any of that at all true?"

"Whether it is or not is of no consequence. He's paid for his earlier stunt, and must learn to live with such consequences."

Garth opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by Hammer. "What is it you did that made them want to take off your clothes?"

"Yes, do tell."

Sparrow sniffed, and turned his head just enough to unmuffle his voice. "I just wanted to not have tan lines…"


	25. ninja lamp

**ninja lamp  
><strong>fable II  
>Sparrow, Theresa, Dog<p>

* * *

><p>Sparrow blinked, mind and eyes scrambling to come together on a consensus of what the fuck was going on.<p>

"Theresa?"

"_Yes, Sparrow?"_

"I'm confused. I thought caves where, y'know, dark. Like, fall on your face down a ravine into the jaws of a waiting monster dark."

The disembodied voice chuckled. "_That is generally the case, Hero. Why do you ask?"_

Sparrow slowly spun about, trying to catch the new conundrum off guard. "Well, this one was, and now it's not. And I'm bloody _glowing_. Is this another weird Hero thing you 'forgot' to mention? Like I turn into a fairy or, collect the rays of the sun and then release them when it gets dark? I'm not going to catch fire or grow wings or something, am I?"

"_Ah, I believe I understand. You see young Hero, wherever you go your path will always be illuminated so long as you have the Guild Seal in possession."_

He stopped his twisting about, staring blankly at a stalactite. "So what you're basically saying is the seal thing's a lamp. An invisible lamp."

"_No, Sparrow, the Seal is not invisible-"_

"No, but the lamp is. Like a, a, a _ninja_. Yes, the Guild Seal has a ninja lamp." He nodded his head in affirmation. Problem solved.

"_I believe you misunderstand-"_

"Nope, think not. Think I get it quite well, thanks. Now shush, I have cave monsters to sneak up on. Which may pose a problem, thanks to this ninja lamp that I haven't the foggiest on how to turn off…"

Shrugging, Sparrow marched off into the cave, mind creating fantastical reasons as to the reason for him being at the center of a halo of light. He chuckled mischievously. "I wonder, if I can convince people I'm some sort of sun god, will they worship me and give me free things? " He glanced down at fluffnugget. "Maybe then we could eat something other than shoes! And I'm sure you'd like something other than that belt as a collar. And then I could use that to keep my pants up." He tugged at his trousers subconsciously, making sure they were still sitting properly. That was the last time he accepted clothes from someone who had just had a kid.


	26. yowler on the roof

**yowler on the roof  
><strong>fable II  
>Sparrow, Hammer<p>

* * *

><p>"64 bottles of beer on the wall, 64 bottles of beer! You steal one more to chug till you're sore, 63 bottles of beer on the wall!"<p>

"Would you _shut up_?"

Sparrow, ever civil, blew a raspberry down at his giantess of a companion. "Why don't you bleedin' make me? Or better yet, _get me off this damn roof!_ It's _uncomfortable, _sticky, and I'm pretty sure there's something living in the chimney been watching me!"

Hammer planted her fists on her hips. "Well, if you hadn't ignored my warning about stealing candy from the orphan children-"

"Hey! No. I stole nothing. Nothing t'all. And 'sides, I hardly think sticking me on a roof and leaving me for _three hours_ is fair punishment!"

"Really? You know Sparrow I think you're right, three hours _is_ unfair."

"That's not fai-wait, really?"

"Oh yea. I think _four _hours is more fair."

Sparrow gaped at her, his mind rebelling at the prospect of another hour of the utter boredom he'd been enduring.

"Maybe next time you'll listen to me. I mean, how many times have I threatened you with this?"

He pouted. "At _le_ast30. But that's beside the point; I never thought you'd actually do it! I thought you were the morally right and, and, well, the nice one!"

"Pretty sure I still am. More so I wager, having saved the orphans and old people of this town from your harassment."

"…."

Hammer frowned, shifting uncomfortably under the peculiar look that had taken him over. "What, no snarky turn-around?"

"Would you still be the good one if you left me here and the tavern just _happened_ to burn to the ground while I was, coincidently, trapped atop it?"

"Sparrow! Don't even talk like that!"

"Me thinks it's not the talking you should be worrying about."

Hammer scowled. "You wouldn't."

He summoned a flame to crackle mischievously on his palm. "Wouldn't I?"

Simultaneously they both remembered the 'Bloodstone incident', as Garth had taken to calling it.

She huffed, clearly aggravated. "_Fine._ I'll go get the bloody ladder…"


	27. TOBY

**T.O.B.Y  
><strong>fable II  
>Sparrow, Toby, Thug<p>

* * *

><p>Whistling, Sparrow sauntered from the T.O.B.Y headquarters. Despite his suspicions of the organization as a whole, he had decided to look at the bright side of the whole ordeal. After all, how often did you get to steal for a good cause?<p>

"'Ey, you!"

He paused mid-step, looking around for the owner of the annoying voice. "Me?"

"Yea you, yer the only one out 'ere ain't cha?"

He looked around, realizing the mysterious voice was right. "Suppose. Does that mean you aren't out here either?"

"Wha'? No, I'm over here yeh wanker."

Sparrow leant over to glance around the wall by the stairs. Lo and behold, a grimy man was leaning on the other side. "Oh."

The thug shook his head. "Bloody idiot, it's no wonder Toby conned yeh."

"He did what now?"

"What was it this time? Sister? Brother? The 'Silver Tongue' and all that?"

Frowning, Sparrow thought of the woman he'd seen in the dingy apartment earlier. "Yeeeea. But how do I know you aren't the one trying to con me?"

"I been here longer'n yeh ain't I? He's always tryin' teh con outsiders in teh doin' 'is dirty work."

Sparrow glanced back at the 'headquarters', frowning.

"He have yeh steal for 'im?"

Although wary of admitting it to someone who could potentially get a mob on his ass, Sparrow nodded slowly.

The thug snorted. "Bet he had yeh get 'im a w'ore too then eh?"

"I'm starting to see a pattern here. You being spot on 'en all." He moved into the stairway with the thug. "Does everyone in this damn place but me know about this?"

"Course. Been doin it ages he has. And yeh know, ain't one of us would miss 'im if he should 'appen to disappear, you catch my drift."

Sparrow looked thoughtfully out over the town below. "reeeeally."

"Aye. Ain't no guards here, people bein' able to look out fer themselves and the like. An' if yeh should happen to feel aggrieved 'bout our dear Toby, well…"

"You'd see nothing, right?"

"Aye."

Sparrow grinned, the thug flinching slightly at the sight of it. "Excuse me good sir, I have something to discuss with my business partner…."

Xxxxxxxxx

He paused, fist inches from the door. He'd been planning on knocking, but now was thinking better of it. False civility was for ponces. Taking a step or three back, Sparrow took aim, and chucked a fireball as hard as he could at the flimsy wood door. Needless to say, his spell won, sending the door exploding inward to smack into the far wall.

"Honey, I'm home!" He hollered at the ceiling, snickering at the sounds of panic easily heard through the rotting wood. Taking his time, Sparrow made his way to the stairs, using the decorations of the house as target practice on his way. Will target practice that is. After all, Garth was constantly telling him he needed practice, and who was he to ignore the mage?

Just as he made the stairs, a dirty face appeared at the landing. "Hello Toby, lovely night innit it?"

"You! W-what are you doing here? I-I told you to come back l-later!"

"We-ell, I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by and say hello!" He set a portrait on fire as he passed it, grin never leaving his face. It was the polite thing to do, smiling at people. At least, that's what Hammer told him.

"What are you doing? You'll set the house on fire!"

"Really? Hm, I don't know if I should believe you. You see, I just had the most wonderful conversation with a lovely bloke just right outside. And he assured me that today is indeed opposite day, and that I've been going about it all wrong! But the day isn't done yet, so I figured I'd better make it up to you."

"What are you talking about? Are you mad?"

Sparrow made the landing, Toby backing up as fast as he could, tripping in the process. He grinned down at the filthy, half naked man trembling at his feet. "Furious."

Xxxxxxxxx

"Ah-fuck-hoshit!" Sparrow just managed to catch his balance and keep himself from falling onto his face. Leaping from a second story window was hard enough, let alone when doing so being chased by an ungodly amount of hungry flames.

"Damn, yeh really took this teh heart din't yeh?"

Looking up from brushing the dirt and soot from his clothing, Sparrow glanced from the magically appeared thug from earlier, to the house behind him. He shrugged. "I take my work seriously is all. Well, most of the time…"

"Right. Yeh'll 'ave given the neighbors nightmares I reckon."

He shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be fine. Well, unless the fire spreads…" He again glanced at his work on T.O.B.Y headquarters.

"An' yeh don' think se'in the place on fire was a bit much then?"

Sparrow waved the thug off, moving past him to go find something to eat. Setting shit on fire always made him hungry. "Nope. It was exactly the right amount of amending."

Behind him, the creaking of wood succumbing to the hunger of the fire forewarned the approaching collapse of important beams and/or walls. He wondered idly how long he'd have before Theresa summoned him home to yell at him.


	28. free clothes

**free clothes  
><strong>fable II  
>Sparrow, NPC, Guard<p>

* * *

><p>The sun was warm, the breeze sweetened by the incoming of summer. And although he was still getting re-acclimated with the various stenches of Bowerstone, none of them seemed too terribly bothersome in that moment.<p>

Releasing a sigh, Sparrow relaxed as many muscles as he could without inadvertently making himself fall from his perch on Bowerstone Bridge's ledge. Being a Hero, he had quickly realized, was quite tiring. In between having to traipse through the wilderness for more days than he could count, he'd had to keep things from taking his limbs as souvenirs. As you can imagine, it made sleeping a bit tricky.

"Oi you bum, get yer arse offa tha' wall an' away from my stall!"

He glanced boredly toward the owner of the voice. It was a very unintimidating man, who even angry as he was didn't overly worry Sparrow.

"Wall ain't yours is it? I can sit on it if I like."

"Listen, yeh damn gypsy, yer kind is bad fer business, so why don't yeh take yer carcass someplace else before I call the guards en have yeh hauled off fer loiterin."

He scowled. First it was 'sod off damned urchin' when he was a kid, and now it was 'sod off or I'll call the guards damned gypsy.' Apparently, he couldn't win, as Bowerstone hated him.

Not, of course, that that would stop him.

Ten minutes later he found himself darting down darkened alleys between houses in an attempt to lose the guard chasing him. It shouldn't have required much effort, considering how hefty the man was, but apparently looks were deceiving. Diving into a doorway, he flattened himself out and held his breath, listening for noises that would tip him off that his hiding place had been found. Much to his relief, he heard the heavy footsteps of the guard run past without so much as slowing.

Heaving a sigh, he took a moment to relax while the guard got nice and far away.

And suddenly up was down and his tailbone hurt something fierce.

"Oh my, are you alright?"

Sparrow blinked the stars out of his eyes, wondering when the sky had been turned to wood.

"Sir? Can you hear me?" A woman's head came into view, a worried look on her face.

He glanced around, realizing he was suddenly in a sitting room. Well, most of him was anyway. His feet were still out on the stoop.

"If I'd known you were there, I wouldn't have opened the door. Why, uh, why were you there anyway?"

He pulled himself ungracefully to his feet, using the doorframe to help regain his balance. "Uh, nothing…"

She frowned. "Nothing."

He flinched, realizing her thoughts could very well have more guards after him. "I, well, I was hiding. Apparently the guards here aren't too fond of gypsies."

"Why were they chasing you?"

"Supposedly the wall of the bridge is not, in fact, for everyone. I decided to sit on it."

She frowned. "Well, that wasn't very nice of them. Just because you aren't from here doesn't mean they can do that."

Sparrow snorted. "Even if you are from here I wager. I lived in Old Town when I was little. Same thing. Stay out of the square, get off the bridge, stop skulking about in alleys, leave the horses alone…" He shook his head. "I think very not nice is part of their job."

She nodded. "Are they still after you?"

"Probably."

"Hm, I'll make you a deal. Carry something for me and I'll be your cover so you can disappear for awhile. At least until they find something better to do."

He shrugged. "Ok. What do I have to carry?"

She pointed at a basket by the door. "Just some of my old maternity clothes. I'm taking them to my friend. She's a tailor, buys and sells things like this. Maybe if you're nice to her, she'll give you something less…obvious to wear."

He looked down at his clothing. It was the same thing essentially every other man in the camp wore…."Oh. Right. I suppose this is a bit obvious, huh?"

Giggling, she nodded. "A bit yes."

Xx

They managed to get halfway through the courtyard before they were stopped.

"Oi! You! Gypsy! Stop!"

Sparrow flinched, glancing at the girl who had stopped and turned toward the guard. "Maybe I should-"

"No, stay put."

"I've got you now you-"

"Excuse me sir, is there a problem?"

The guard paused, glancing at her in surprise. "Yes, then what is it? He's not bothering you too now is he?"

She frowned. "Of course not. He's helping me out actually. Is there a reason you're making a scene?"

"What?"

"Why are you yelling at him? What did he do, exactly?"

"He-"

"Sat on a wall?"

"Yes-wait, no! You little bastard, keep your mouth shut!"

"I'm sorry, but I fail to see the problem. He sat on a wall. Is that all? Because if so, we have things to be doing."

The guard scowled at her. "You-"

"Is there a problem here?" A young man, a friend, Sparrow assumed, of the girl had come over.

The guard glanced at this new addition, eyes convulsively darting around the square. More than a few people had stopped to see what all the commotion was about. Sparrow could tell by the look on his face that he was weighing the pros and cons of continuing on and dragging him away by his hair. He hoped the cons won.

"Nothing. Just a misunderstanding." The guard grit out before touching his hat to the girl and walking stiffly away.

Sparrow snickered. "I should have you around more often."

The girl waved him off. "Hardly. Maybe just some new clothes and a less active mouth, if you catch my drift."

The man glanced between the two of them. "Sarah, what's going on exactly?"

"Nothing Jeremy, just helping a friend out. Come on then, the tailor is just over there."

Jeremy grabbed her lightly by the arm. "I don't know if you should trust him Sarah. Just tell him thank you and I'll help you the rest of the way." Even though he was whispering, Sparrow still managed to hear him without even trying.

Sarah frowned. "Now Jeremy don't be that way. He's been a proper gentleman this entire time."

"But he's a, a-"

"A gypsy?" Sparrow filled in bemusedly for him.

"Er, right. Look, I'm sorry, but well, I don't know you."

Sparrow shrugged. "I don't know you either." He held out the clothes basket to him. "Here. Now that I'm not about to get strung up I should be going. I have somewhere I'm supposed to be, anyway. Oakfield isn't going to get closer by my sitting around, is it?"

Jeremy reluctantly took the basket. Sarah frowned. "You're not even going to come to the tailors with me?"

He shrugged. "I can find clothes somewhere else. I'm not especially picky."

"But you need something that fits."

"Not really. It doesn't even have to be men's clothing honestly. Clothes are clothes. Actually…." He eyed up the basket of finely tailored women's maternity clothes. "What size are those?"


	29. garths damn swimming pit

**garth's damn swimming pit  
><strong>fable II  
>Sparrow, Garth, Hammer, Theresa, Dog<p>

*Note that I took some creative leeway with this particular cave-thing. Mostly because I didn't feel like making this seem too walkthroughish, or what have you.

* * *

><p>"Ahhh fuuuuuuc-"<p>

Sparrow found his explitive cut off by a rush of cold, stale water flooding his nose and mouth. Disoriented, he allowed himself to sink to the bottom, blinking at the murky nothingness he currently found himself in. Of the many things he'd been expecting to hit at the end of his oh so graceful fall, a pond was not one of them. Spikes? Yes. Bits of the railing he'd realized were missing just a tad too late? Most definitely. Garth's super secret swimming pool? Hell no.

His disbelief was cut short by his lungs' need for air, bringing him back to reality and forcing him to propel himself upwards as fast as possible. He broke the surface with just as much dignity as a cat thrown into a bathtub, splashing and gasping as he tried to tread water and peel his hair out of his eyes.

Another splash, not of his own doing, threw him off for a moment, almost sending him back under. "Gah, damn it fluffnugget! Trying not to die here!" The dog snorted, paddling away. "Hey, get back here! Don't leave me you bloody mongrel, you know me and swimming don't get along!" The dog ignored him. Grumbling, he splash swam after his furry deserter, hoping Garth's pool wasn't ginormus and full of weird monsters.

His feet hit bottom, and he stumbled forward, half crawling onto the bank his dog was currently spraying with shaken off water. On hands and knees, gasping and spitting out water, Sparrow turned to throw an evil glare at the mutt. "Thanks a lot boy, you were a big help in keeping me from bloody drowning." The dog rolled his eyes as if to say, 'I found you dry land, didn't I?' Which made the sopping gypsy huff indignantly. Damn smartass dog.

Pulling himself to his feet, Sparrow squinted into the darkness. "Is it just me, or is my ninja lamp broken?" He glanced to the dog, who cocked his head. He shrugged. "Oh well. It's not like I haven't fallen off one ledge already today…" Pulling his soaked clothes back into sorts, Sparrow glanced back up the way they'd come. "Guess we aren't going back that way." With a sigh, he trudged forward into the darkness.

**-back on brightwall tower's porch-**

"Bloody hell Garth, you think he's all right?"

The mage surveyed the area below them. "I'm not sure. I don't see him, so we should assume he fell into that." He pointed to an odd structure directly below the hole in the railing.

Hammer squinted at it. "It's too dark to see anything…Do you know what's in there?"

He shook his head. "No. To be honest, I never really paid it much attention. There was never an obvious way to get in there, so I assumed it was purely for decorative purposes."

"Decorative purposes. Garth, you live in a castle, since when do castles have decorations? I thought the whole point of them was to defend whoever was holed up inside."

"If you hadn't noticed, the courtyard is full of decorations, albeit some less intact than others."

Hammer glanced around. "Right, well, how do we get him out?"

"I haven't a clue. Come; let's make our way down there."

Sighing, Hammer followed after the mage. "Bloody git, I told him one day his inability to pay attention would get the best of him."

**-back in the decorative well, cave, thing-**

"Shit!" Sparrow watched the rocks tumble down into the void he'd nearly stepped off into. He glanced back at fluffnugget, who had his master's pants clamped firmly in his muzzle. "Glad one of us can see where the hell he's going. Thanks boy." He stepped back from the edge far enough for the dog to feel safe letting go. "How about you lead the way?" In response, the dog turned about and set off, forcing his master to hustle to keep up.

It was stupidly dark, and without his magic ninja lamp to light his way, Sparrow couldn't tell his asshole from his elbow. He was going to have to have a talk with Theresa when he found his way back about why the damn thing wasn't water proof.

"Doesn't this place ever end? We've been walking for ages and I'm tired and-gah, damn, fluffnugget, why'd you stop?"

The mutt barked, jumping up to signal he'd found something. Blinking, Sparrow looked up from the furry back he'd been staring at religiously for who knows how long. In front of them was a softly glowing yellow orb. "Huh, when did that get here? And more importantly, why are Garth's weird wizard pool toys all the way in here?"

A nudge at his thigh made him jump, a furry face and a lolling tongue meeting his gaze in its search for monsters. "Is it give Sparrow a heart attack day?" The dog barked, again bumping his snout against the gun holster strapped to his master's leg. He looked between the gun and the yellow orb more than a few times before a candle flickered to life in his brain. "Oooooooh, that's one of those, uhm, things. That Theresa had in the guild cave when she first threw us down that hole. What were they called?" Fluffnugget barked. "Right, of course! Woofs!" And with a cheery grin, Sparrow shot it.

The 'woof' twirled over itself before shooting off down another dark corridor. Without missing a beat, Sparrow scrambled after it, glad for the sudden light it let off. "Come on fluffers, the light of the woof will keep us safe!"

The assurance was quickly proved faulty as the ground rose up and stabbed him in the thigh.

With a screech Sparrow stumbled backwards, landing on his ass and clutching his wound. "What's the big idea?" He glowered at the woof, which was ignoring him as it trekked across the cavern. He watched it pause, then nestle itself in a small stone pillar that also looked vaguely familiar to his affronted mind. Before he could complain about the loss of light, shelves lined with candles lit up as if by magic.

He momentarily ignored the gloating candles, gaze darting to the floor in search of the thing that had stabbed him. Before him were littered numerous holes in the rock, far too properly made to be anything natural. He sucked a breath in, pulling fluffnugget to his side and pointing to the general area before them. "Look boy, Theresa was wrong! The Mole People _do _exist!"

Fluffnugget gave his master his patented 'are you kidding me right now?' look.

Sparrow patted the mutt on the head. "Don't worry boy, they won't hurt us. Look how small the holes are! I can take them." Springing to his feet, he stepped lightly back onto the holey platform.

Not five seconds later he was back where he started, on his ass, clutching his other now bleeding thigh and cursing colorfully at the spikes receding back into their respective holes.

"Not a word, mutt, not a damned word."

Picking up a rock, he chucked it off into the field of perforated squares. He watched moodily as rock bounced off rock. He blinked. No spikes had leapt upward to lay the hurt down on the rock. He grabbed another, tossing it towards the spattering of blood he'd left behind. A grin spread across his face as the spikes yet again leapt upwards at the intrusion of their space. "I, have an idea."

Xx

A handful of rocks, three rats and what he assumed were probably the femurs of some unlucky idiot, and Sparrow had managed to map out a safe path across the room. Following said winding path drew him level with the candles, the pattern of them catching his eye. It looked oddly familiar….

"Well fuck."

It took only two glances to affirm that yes, the candles where in fact telling him the safe path, of which he'd spent a half hour figuring out on his own. He pointed at the smug looking mutt at his feet. "Not a word."

Xxx

More spikes and some peculiar statues later (of which he found, much to his amusement, he had to make faces at to defeat) Sparrow was growing bored. Caves were fun and all, but he hadn't been planning on spelunking that particular day. Not to mention his ninja lamp was still on the fritz. And he smelled musty, his clothes still damp from earlier. He didn't even want to be able to see all the nasty things clinging to his wet self.

"Does this damn cave ever end? I think we need to have a serious talk with Garth when we get back about good places for swimming pools and how this definitely isn't one of them."

Fluffnugget yipped in agreement.

**-back in Brightwood near the accursed well-**

"_SPARROW!"_

"Enough Hammer. If he didn't hear you the first three times I highly doubt continuing in this manner would be worthwhile."

She pulled herself back from the lip of the qwll, glancing at Garth and blinking at the sight of the mage covering his ears. "How deep do you think this thing is? I can't see the bottom."

Garth rubbed his chin, looking the thing over. "It's hard to say. Here, hand me a small piece of rock from over there, if you would." He held up his fingers to define small.

"Ok, but what are you-"

He dropped the stone down into the well, leaning over and waiting to hear it hit. Far too long later for his liking, he heard a small splash.

"Was that?"

"Water, yes. There must be an underground pond or lake of some sort."

"You don't think.." Hammer's eyes grew large as the implications dawned on her.

"I'm sure he's fine. Perhaps we should alert Theresa, and see if she can get into contact with him just to make sure."

Hammer nodded, pulling out the trinket that functioned like a guild seal both she and Garth possessed. "Do you think we'll have to go get him?"

Garth frowned. "Sparrow can take care of himself. I'm sure he's off trying to find a way out now as we speak."

**-back in the cave thing-**

"_Sparrow? Can you hear me?"_

"Course I can hear you. Especially with the way this cave reflects sounds. Good god, I'm surprised you can't hear yourself!"

"_Ah, I'm glad to hear you in good spirits. Hammer and Garth informed me of your…accident. They are worried about you, Hero."_

Sparrow snorted. "What, you didn't know? Did you finally find a new hobby that doesn't involve spying on me?"

"_Sparrow-"_

"Tell 'em I'm fine. Mostly. I did get stabbed by the mole people…oh, and I almost drowned…well, and then there were those incidents with the cliffs. And the cages. And the sentient statues….but other than that, and the smell and the dark, I'm perfectly fine! Which reminds me, you should have told me my ninja lamp wasn't water proof. Cause no-ow it's busted."

Silence.

"Theresa? There-sa!"

**-back at Brightwood tower-**

Both Hammer and Garth were frowning, Hammer having gone somewhat pale. "This is all my fault, I should have grabbed him!"

"Theresa, did he say how far he'd been walking, and in what direction?"

"_No Garth, however even if he had I wouldn't have suggested trying to track his movements. Sparrow is many things, but skilled at underground navigation is not one of them. Stay where you are, I will contact you should he need your immediate attention. Until then, do not fret. In time, I'm sure he will resurface."_

Hammer stuffed her seal away. "Well that was helpful. Should we listen to her Garth? I mean, from the sounds of it, Sparrow could use our help and-"

"No, Hammer, I think Theresa is right. All we can do right now is wait for him to return. At this point it's very unlikely we'd be able to find him anyway."

Crossing her arms and huffing, Hammer sat on a boulder near her. "Fine. But if he needs us, don't think I won't throw you down there."

"There was no doubt in my mind that you would."


	30. garths damn swimming pit part 2

**garth's swimming pit part 2  
><strong>fable II  
>Sparrow, Reaver, Garth, Hammer, Theresa, Dog<p>

* * *

><p>"Ug, more stairs….so…bored…I-umpf!"<p>

Sparrow managed to catch himself before he stumbled back down the stairs, rubbing his sore nose where it had collided with something metal and very solid. "What. Bloody. Now?" He punctured each word by banging his fist against what it was he'd run into. "Damn it!" He kicked it for good measure.

And with an earsplitting creak, it swung open.

Cool, clean air swept over him, the light from a now setting sun momentarily assaulting his eyes. "What new madness is this?" In response, fluffnugget barked happily, darting off to roll in the grass. Blinking, Sparrow slowly followed, eyes darting around to try to find the trick. After all, he couldn't have found his way out…He'd just resigned himself to being trapped in there for the rest of forever!

"_I see you've made your way back to the surface. Well done, Hero."_

He stopped, head tilted back as far as he could get it, taking in the soft light of the first of the night's stars. "This is real? I'm really out of there?"

"_Yes."_

"For real? In all seriousness, no lies?"

"_Yes."_

Sparrow burst out into semi hysteric laughter, dropping to the ground and joining in on the grass rolling.

"_You should make your way back to Brightwood Tower. Garth and Hammer are worried about you."_

Sparrow flopped around onto his back, panting and grinning like a loon. "Fuck. That. I need a drink, or seven."

"_Sparrow-"_

"What's that? Theresa? Theresa I can't hear you, you're breaking up! I must be going back into the cave for some reason! The reception is terr-schhhhh-I don't-schhhhhh-tell-schhhhhh-blarbl-schhhhhhh."

He shoved the seal to the bottom of his bag before climbing back to his feet. "Aite fluffnugget, ready to get out of these damn woods? Fluffnugget?"

The mutt had disappeared. "Oi! Dog! You! Where! Are?"

"Woof!" fluffnugget stuck his head around the rock he had disappeared behind.

"What are you doing?"

"Woof woof!"

"Uh huh. Well, you coulda told me beforehand."

"Woof! Woof woof!"

"Alright fine! Jeeze, I'm coming! See? One foot in front of the other?"

The dog snorted, then pulled his head back around the rock.

"Hey wait up!" Sparrow jogged the remaining distance, worried he'd get lost. Again. Or fall off a cliff. Again. Dashing around the rock, he was met with the site of fluffnugget sitting smugly in front of a chest. "Oh ho ho, aren't you special. Did you use your thumbs to open it and see what it was too?"

The dog growled.

Holding up his hands, Sparrow grinned sheepishly. "Ok, ok, I'm sorry. Jeeze. I did just spend the entire day lost in a smelly, pitch black cave."

Fluffnugget gave him an 'and I wasn't?' look, which made Sparrow feel even more sheepish. "Right. Ok boy, let's see what we got out of this eh?"

The dog darted to the side, watching avidly as Sparrow pried open the ancient chest.

The gypsy whistled, reaching a hand in to pull out his prize. "Whaddu think boy, worth it?" He held up the ornate gold katana for his furry follower to see. Fluffnugget barked ecstatically, spinning in a circle once for emphasis. "Same here." He let the lid fall with a thunk, sticking his new prize in his bag. After all, it looked expensive, and where he was going it might draw unwanted attention. After all, thieves were attracted to shiny things. He should know, after all.

"Come on boy, let's go bug our favorite pirate!"

**-Bloodstone manor-**

"Oh my that does sound rather dreadful."

Sparrow nodded enthusiastically. He was feeling much better, now that he was clean and not quite sober. He'd been surprised and somewhat annoyed when the first thing Reaver had done upon seeing him was forcibly shove him into a tub full of hot water and soap suds, but he'd gotten over it rather quickly.

"It was. Bu-ut, I did get _something_ good out of it."

Reaver quirked a brow. "And what, pray tell, would that be? Besides, of course, my wonderful hospitality and best dressing gown."

Sparrow glanced down at himself, having momentarily forgotten he wasn't in his own clothes. They'd been filthy, after all, and the robe was rather comfortable.

Back on subject after a slight mental shaking of his head to clear the fog, he pulled his bag out from under his chair, blindly sticking his hand into it in search of the weapon. Not really a smart move, considering how many sharp objects he had in there.

"This." He pulled the katana from its sheath, turning it so the light of the fireplace would reflect off the silver of the blade and the gold of the hilt. "Fancy huh?"

Reaver leaned closer, eyes dancing over the sword. "May I?"

Shrugging, Sparrow handed his prize over, careful not to accidently stab either of them.

Tilting the blade closer to the fireplace, the pirate turned it about slowly in his grip, examining the markings. "I must say, this looks oddly familiar, but as to where I've seen it before…Ah, there it is." He tilted the sword back towards Sparrow, finger tapping lightly against the blade.

Leaning in and squinting, Sparrow could make out a strange symbol that vaguely reminded him of Garth for whatever reason. "What's that mean? Is it a cheap knock off? It's a cheap knock off, innit it."

Reaver chuckled. "Far from it, actually. This character is the name of the sword, and the purposeful alteration to it was done by its owner to distinguish it as being unique. Understandably, I'm rather curious as to where, exactly, you found this."

"I told you, I fell down a well or something in Brightwood…So those lines, you can read them?"

"If by lines you mean the, ah, symbol as a whole, then yes. Where exactly, in Brightwood?"

"By Garth's tower. I told you, fell off the porch, remember? So what does it say?"

"'Daichi'. You mean to tell me you fell off a 'porch', into a well, and happened to find this?"

"Yea. Well, it wasn't in the well, it was on the other side, didn't you listen to a word I said?"

Reaver waved him off absently.

"So what's it mean?"

"It was the name of the warrior who wielded it. She was from Eastern Samarkand I believe…"

"And her name was Daichi? What kind of person names their daughter that?"

"It wasn't her first name, coincidently."

"Oh. Ok. So, uh, is it a good sword?"

Before Reaver could answer, the door to the den slammed open, startling both of them.

"There you are!"

Sparrow flinched as Hammer stomped into the room, Garth trailing behind her. "Do you know how worried we've been? One minute you're there making off color jokes, the next you're gone off down a bloody well! I thought you'd hurt yourself, or worse! And here you are, with that bloody _pirate_ getting drunk and comparing swords!"

Reaver snorted. "Do calm down woman, your yelling is getting saliva all over my expensive rugs."

"Not another word you!" She jabbed a finger menacingly in Reaver's face, which garnered no reaction whatsoever.

"Hammer-"

"Get your things Sparrow, we're leaving."

"What? Why?"

"Because-"

"Hammer!"

"What?"

Garth folded his arms across his chest, managing to look authoritive with minimal effort. "I don't think yelling is going to help anything. For once, none of this was Sparrow's fault-"

"Hey! What do you mean, 'this time'?"

"-so there's no need to punish him. As you can see, he's unharmed and, despite present company, quite safe."

"But he should have come back! I was worried sick, only to find out he'd run off to this bloody hole!"

"Regardless, he did make sure we were informed, and I for one had no urge to hunt him down without a valid reason."

"Then why, exactly are you here? Or you for that matter?" Reaver turned his gaze momentarily on a scowling Hammer. "I don't recall allowing either of you entry to my manor. I am to assume my doorman is currently face down in the courtyard, or some such?"

"The landing of the stairs, actually. You'll have to forgive us. Some of us were…a little overly excited."

Reaver narrowed his eyes dangerously at Hammer, who was glaring at Garth for selling her out. "Well, if _some of us_ hadn't refused to tell me where Sparrow was-"

"Oi!"

"_What?"_

"Could you quite with the yelling? You're giving me a bleedin' headache." Sparrow didn't even flinch as both Hammer and Garth shifted their less then amicable gazes to him. "That's much better." He refilled his brandy nonchalantly as the two continued to watch him.

"Well, as fun as this has been, I'll have to ask you to leave. I think you've caused enough of a scene for the night, don't you?"

"Very well, come Hammer."

"_Fine. _Come on Sparrow."

"No thanks, I'm fine here. Tell Theresa I said hello. And that she better fix my damn ninja lamp when I get back."

"Tell her yourself when we get back."

"Not leaving."

"Sparrow-"

"Now now, you heard the man, if he'd rather stay here-"

"You just told us to leave. So we are. But not without him."

"I told _you_ to leave. I never said anything about our dear Sparrow. If he wishes to stay then he may. After all, _he _doesn't take liberties with my help and their state of consciousness. Or living, for that matter."

"But-"

"Ta."

Scowling, Hammer spun on her heel and proceeded to stomp her way back out of the manor. Garth followed silently, realigning the door so it would properly close on his way out.

Sparrow blew an errant strand of hair out of his face, once again reminded he needed to have his dreadlocks fixed. "Well that was fun."

"Highly. I don't envy you in the slightest."

Sparrow grimaced. Going back to the guild was inevitable. Thus so was the confrontation with Hammer. "Can I just live here for the rest of forever?"

"As fun as that would be, no. I have no inclination to have those wonderful decorations of yours anywhere within these walls."

"Not even in the basement?"

"Especially not in the basement."

"Why, what's in the basement?"

Reaver dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Never mind." He spun the sword he'd been holding about to offer the hilt to Sparrow. "Here. Treat this well, would you? It is rather old and valuable after all."

"If it's as old and valuable as you say, how come you're not trying to get me to give it to you?"

Reaver chuckled. "Because, dear gypsy, it suits you far better than it does me."

"Really? How come?"

"It _is _a woman's sword after all."


	31. chicken kickin

**chicken kickin'  
><strong>Fable II  
>Reaver, Sparrow<p>

* * *

><p>"C'mon Reaver, it's fun! Don't be such a bloody priss."<p>

The pirate eyed him disdainfully. How the gypsy had managed to convince him to climb over the dilapidated fence surrounding the patch of bare grass behind some poor fool's house he wasn't entirely sure. It was some odd combination of manipulation and caravan sorcery, surely.

In reality, however, it was because he, Reaver, was bored. And Sparrow was a marvelous cure for that exact malady.

"Let me reiterate in terms you will understand my _dear_ gypsy: what the bloody hell is the point?"

"That's the beauty of it! There is no point! It's just for fun. You know, _fun_? That thing other people have?"

Without missing a beat, he smacked the hero on the back of the head, his expression unchanging and his demeanor unruffled.

Sparrow blinked at him, mind clearly stopping and backtracking to properly register what had just happened. Reaver allowed the bemused smile tugging at his lips to grace his features, a rarity the gypsy was one of few to be so privileged to see and live.

After all, a ruthless Pirate King couldn't be seen showing true human emotion. It would make him seem, well, _human_.

Sparrow pressed the crook of his arm against his mouth to smother his laughter. Being, after all, that it was the middle of the night and the goal was to entertain themselves by means other than angering the residents of Bloodstone.

"Come on, just pretend it's me your foot's going to send sailing." Sparrow spoke conspiratorially over his arm, eyes glittering mischievously in the piss poor light.

Reaver glanced between the hero and his suggested stand in. It _was _tempting, and they _were_ alone…Sighing as though highly put upon, he swung his leg out, foot connecting with the target in a far more satisfying way than he anticipated.

Sparrow clapped his hands together, loosing a bark of laughter before slapping a hand over his mouth to quiet himself. "Brilliant! Fun, like I said yea?"

He stifled a chuckle at the gypsy whispering excitedly between the fingers clamped around his jaw, choosing instead to sniff and brush at imaginary dust on his shoulder. "It wasn't _horrible_."

Sparrow made a derisive noise, before shaking his head and lowering his hand just enough to unobscure his mouth. "Wanna do it again?"

He held the gypsy's eager gaze for a long, silent moment, searching his face for ill intent and only finding the honest amusement and secretive companionship of a child; something he hadn't had directed at him since he himself was very young.

Reaver shifted his gaze to the remainder of the beasts at his feet, a mischievous smile of his own directed toward his companion. "I don't see why not."

Sparrow pumped his fist in the air before sending his own projectile flying clear of the fence out to the docks. "Whoever's goes furthest gets to pawn off one of Hammer's side projects on the loser!"

"You, my dear Sparrow, have a wager."

And that is how it came to be that the next day the owner of the barren patch of grass found himself running about the docks of Bloodstone, chasing down his chickens that had somehow gotten loose in the night.


	32. guild frisbee

**guild frisbee  
>Fable III<br>**princess, walter, jasper

* * *

><p>The princess watched the creaking stone arms descend, half expecting a horde of snakes to leap out at her. Instead, she was faced with something far more mind boggling and potentially venomous:<p>

"Walter, why was that statue guarding a Frisbee?"

"That is your father's guild seal."

She watched the aging soldier brush dust from his arm. "Are you sure? I've seen pictures, and I'm pretty sure this isn't it. I'm also sure that that is a Frisbee."

"Right and what exactly is a Frisbee?"

She stopped, suddenly realizing something mind-boggling. "I have no idea." How did she come up with that one again?

"Princess-"

She waved Walter off. "No matter, the fact remains. That, my dear Walter, is a Frisbee. Look, I'll show you."

Picking the large, shiny disc up from its oddly lacking in dust and rat droppings hiding place, she poised herself to throw it.

And then it twinkled with an evil light, and for what appeared to be a split second to Walter and Jasper, the princess flickered out of sight. And when she returned, the seal was gone, and she stood with her arms crossed five feet from where she started.

Walter blinked, rubbing his eyes for good measure when nothing changed. "Princess?"

"Madame, what happened? The seal…."

She glared moodily at the statue. "Frisbee, Jasper. A demonic Frisbee."

Her companions glanced at one another. "What happened?"

"Nothing an exorcism can't fix."


	33. theresanapped

a/n: no worries, Sparrow will be back eventually. He's just wandered off for the moment. I believe he's off fighting for peace, justice, and donuts. Mostly donuts.

**theresa-nabbed  
>Fable III<br>**Princess, Theresa

* * *

><p>The bright light blinding her faded away, leaving behind a drab, foggy gray landscape that reminded her of the time she'd gotten stuck atop a factory.<p>

"Good evening, Princess."

She jumped, prepared to use her guild Frisbee as a weapon.

"Do not be frightened child, you are safe here."

Before her eyes a woman appeared from the fog. "Who are you, and where the bloody hell am I?"

"I am Theresa, the seer of the spire. I guided your father in his greatest-"

"Woah-woah-wooah, you're the crazy old bat Father used to talk about? Oh good lord, that's just what I need at the end of this marvelous day: to be kidnapped by an undead gypsy stalker with a God-complex. Lovely."

"Harsh words for one so young to be using. Especially against the one who means only to put you on the path toward your destiny."

"My Father's, actually. And why can't I put myself on my own 'path toward destiny'? What if I'd rather live the rest of my life running a pie shop? Or I wanted to be Albion's top Lute player? What if I wanted to go jump off a cliff and see if I could survive shark wrestling?"

"All of these things can be achieved on the path I have laid ahead-"

"Yea, but it's not my path though is it? It's your path that I just happen to be picked to live out for you. Am I right?"

The princess smirked down at the gypsy, who was clearly displeased.

"The seal awoke at your touch, as it would at no others. This means that the fate of Albion rests on your shoulders."

"Bollocks."

"Before you lies the path you were born to take."

"Bollocks."

"And at its end, the kingdom you were born to rule."

"Still bollocks."

"Like all Heros, you will face many trials. But you cannot pass through these gates alone."

"You mean these bollocks ones that don't really exist?"

"You will need to gather followers, and gain the support of the people."

"So start a cult and give away free candy during a parade."

"For now, you have the support of two friends. Jasper, who will serve you always,"

"Until I run out of money after spending it on parades and candy and cult…things…."

"And Sir Walter Beck, who will be your greatest ally."

"And my oldest, apparently. And I'm pretty sure Walter doesn't approve of cults. Though he does like parades…."

"Together you have already taken the first step in your journey,"

"Running away is the first step? Brilliant."

"Walk through the gate, and claim your reward."

"What if I don't want it? I know how this works, I even look at it funny and I'm stuck doing this. Can I just leave the gate alone and go back? Not literally of course, as I'm pretty sure that's a cliff over there, unless jumping off that is how I get back to the creepy tomb you kidnapped me from…..Hey!"

Theresa had begun to fade back into the mist. "You do not have a choice. You will become a great Hero, just like you father."

"But my father was a loony! He gave me a pet banshee when I was seven!"

"Yes, I am aware. Your father was many things, but it does not change what he accomplished."

"Tormenting the entire populace of the castle on a whim?"

Theresa chuckled, and then was gone.

"Bloody wanking kidnapper." Grumbling moodily, the Princess stalked up to the gates, eyed the, warily for a moment, then proceeded to kick them open. Because potentially breaking something that didn't exist wasn't her problem.

"Oh look, a conveniently placed chest in the middle of the empty space. I am so enthralled, what could possibly be in it?" She used her foot to open it, half expecting some sort of monster to jump at her. When nothing happened, she bent over and squinted into the dark recesses of the trunk.

"A glove. Really? Really? A singular leather glove. That's all it takes to save the world these days?"

"There is a great power inside you; you merely lack the means to unleash it."

"Ah fucking damn buggering goat mothered chest! Bloody hell! Don't do that!" Her heart was racing and she'd managed to hit her head on the lid of the chest.

The newly reappeared Theresa had a far too cheery smile on her face. "The gauntlet will channel the magic within you.

"Uh huh-"

"Use it by the tomb in the mausoleum, and the way out of the castle will be open to you."

"Boll-wait. You're telling me that if I hadn't picked up the stupid Frisbee, we'd be stuck down there? And that there's no other way out of the castle? Because I'm pretty sure there is. It does have doors you know, the castle. I've used them once or twice myself."

"You will return here when you have enough followers to open the next gate."

"Stop ignoring me or I won't sacrifice small children to you. I'll make my cult sacrifice chickens to the spirit of black jack on poker night."

Theresa sighed. "This is not a joke, young hero. Now go. Jasper and Sir Walter will follow wherever you lead. And perhaps one day, the rest of Albion will do so too."

"_Any where_ you say?"

Theresa shook her head. "Until next time, Princess. Hopefully before then you take this matter more seriously." And thus she once again faded into the background.

She waved the gauntlet in the air in annoyance. "Bollocks! Come back and tell me something that's not a rehearsed speech! I'm on to you lady!"


	34. escape tunnels

**escape tunnels  
>Fable III<br>**Princess, Walter, Jasper

* * *

><p>"Ah, now this is more like it! This is what an escape tunnel of a castle should look like!"<p>

The Princess stared slack-jawed at the sheer amount of nothing. Well, there was something, it just happened to take up a lot of space and have a lot of emptiness to it.

"Walter, what exactly used to be down here?"

"Well, if I recall correctly, there used to be a basement level to the castle-"

"Yes, but it's still there."

"It was bigger, if your father's stories are anything to go by."

"This big though? Walter, you could fit the entire city down here!"

"Yes…"

"If I may interject?"

She glanced over to Jasper, who had a bit of an odd look on his face. "Of course."

"Although my memory is a bit hazy, this happening quite some years before you were born, I do recall King Sparrow mentioning the discovery of, well, something beyond the confines of the castle cellar."

"Really? He never mentioned it to me."

"Yes well I caught him sneaking in through the kitchens in the dead of night dragging about quite a mess. And of course he'd managed to wake the entire wing sometime in the process. I doubt he would have said anything otherwise."

"Do you remember what my father told you then?"

"Well Princess, to be quite honest I'm not entirely sure. It was a rather…fantastical tale he spun, and although I dislike to speak ill of him, he did have a tendency to fabricate outlandish stories in excruciating detail-"

"So you weren't really listening to him?" She added wryly.

"Er, well…"

"I seem to hear that a lot." Here she threw a pointed glance at Walter, who pretended to be interested in an odd little statue they happened to be passing. "What do you remember?"

"Well there was something with owls and…urchins perhaps? Yes, I remember mention of small things running about….And…"

"And what?"

Jasper passed a gloved hand across the cave wall nearest him, and then held his finger toward her. It was covered in something shiny. "Something called Glitter."

"Oh! I always wondered what that was. He used to go on about it when Jareth was still the one arranging the balls and galas and such."

"Jareth?"

She looked between the two men flanking her, both of whom were giving her quizzical looks. "You never met him? Surely you must have, Jasper."

The butler shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I was always under the impression Sparrow somehow managed to put everything together himself."

"I always thought you were the one behind it myself, Jasper."

"Oh heaven's no Walter; in fact Sparrow insisted I take no part in it. He was of the belief that I 'had enough bleedin' shite to do'."

She snickered at the surprisingly accurate imitation of the late great King Sparrow.

"Hn. Well, what did he look like? Maybe we've seen him around."

"Blonde, bout yay tall, mismatched eyes."

Walter shook his head. Jasper, however, tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"You know, I may recall having seen such a man around the castle a few times. Perhaps it explains why I would oft find myself cleaning up glitter and wondering where it had come from…"

The princess thought back to the times she remembered clearly speaking with the man. They were few; many of those memories felt more like dreams and thus were untrustworthy. "I don't recall him with that glitter stuff _per say_, but I do remember him seeming…shiny." She giggled. "Maybe it was just something they did in his kingdom, covering everything in shiny dust."

"Which kingdom is that then? Somewhere in Samarkand?"

"No idea Walter. I just remember Father always called him the Goblin King."

"He also used to call Reaver 'Old Man'."

The princess shrugged. "Yes, but Jareth never threatened to shoot him in the kneecaps like I remember Reaver doing."

"Yes, of course! Anytime someone doesn't threaten to shoot Sparrow in the kneecaps he's telling the truth! How could I have forgotten?"

"Although I'm sure it could be proven wrong, you're probably more accurate than you'd like to be, Walter."

She giggled as Walter scowled over at the butler. "Oh shut up, Jasper, what do you know?"

"How many bullets I had to pull out of that boy, for one."

"How many?" She fluttered her eyes innocently at Jasper, who was giving her the 'you're being morbid and I shouldn't continue this conversation' look.

With a sigh, he acquiesced. "Five hundred and forty three."

"No way."

"Yes, 'way'. It was a time of war-"

"Still, that's a lot of bullets! How the bloody hell did he survive that?"

"He didn't get them all at once, Princess."

"Still! Jasper, that many bullets would fill at least three jars-"

"Four, actually. He insisted on keeping them as trophies."

"Did he have many trophies?"

"Oh yes, though there were a few I insisted he be rid of. They were rotting something fierce by the time he employed me."

"He kept severed heads, didn't he."

Jasper refrained from answering, which she took as a yes. "Soooo does that mean heads are fair game for trophies, now that I have to collect them as part of my hero-ly duty?"

"Most certainly not."

"Can I use glitter to decorate our hideout?"

"I would ask that you didn't."

"You know maybe it would be easier if you gave me a list of things I _could_ do."

"Fair enough. If it sounds like something your Father would have done, thought of, or enjoyed, the answer is no you may not."

She mock scowled up at the smirking butler. "Pity my father wasn't a more mundane man."

"Indeed."

"Here we are then, end of the line."

She sighed at the sight of the Cullis gate sitting innocently on the balcony at the edge of a cliff. "I'm not sure I want to see where this one leads…"

* * *

><p>an: yes, slight AU/crossover/mention/whatever of one of my favorite movies. i.e Labyrinth. Because everytime I see the escape tunnel out of the castle I think of the underground city in the downloadable content I don't actually own, and thus then I think of the Underground, and how Hobbes remind me of Goblins...I need to stop watching movies.


	35. life's dream

**her life's dream  
>Fable III<br>**Princess, Jasper

* * *

><p>"It would seem you now posses enough gold to acquire the repulsive items required for this particular task. If you would make your way to the applicable store-"<p>

At her butler's words, the princess had stopped in the middle of the street, folded her arms, and begun to give the sky a petulant look (as she couldn't actually see Jasper).

"Jasper,"

"Yes, Madame?"

"I'm aware you're displeased with the idea of my dressing up like some dirty male mercenary, but let me ask you something. What if that was my dream?"

"Pardon?"

"My dream Jasper! What if that was my dream in life? My ultimate goal! My heart's desire!"

"...Is it?"

"What?"

"Is it your dream?"

"…..No."

"Well then, as I was saying-"

Sighing exasperatedly, the Princess stomped off toward the nearest 'repulsive items' store, ignoring the looks the townsfolk were giving her after her outburst. The downside to the seal's privacy function was that it made you look like a loony.

And suddenly, she understood her father far better than she ever had.


	36. he's a woman, she's a man

**he's a woman, she's a man  
>Fable III<strong>  
>Princess, Walter<p>

* * *

><p>"All right Walter, I'm here, what's your….plan." The princess faltered just inside the door of the inn, not quite sure about what it was she was seeing. "If I'm interrupting something-"<p>

"Ah Princess, there you are! Quick, come inside and close the door."

"Walter, what is this exactly?"

"You'd be amazed at how easy it is to drink these lads under the table! Young blokes think they're tough because they're mercenaries-"

"Walter, focus. Why is there a dead man on your table?"

"What? Don't be daft, he's not dead! He's just passed out drunk!"

"With his eyes open?"

"Some people do that." He shrugged. "Relax he's perfectly-"

"Not breathing?"

"Now you're just being difficult-"

"Like that odd position he's laid himself out on the table in? When there's a bed just over there?"

"That, young lady, is enough. You should be thanking me, not questioning whether or not I killed some poor bloke because he's not tucked up in bed."

"The sooner you admit it, the sooner we can get on with whatever it is you called me here for."

Walter sighed. "Look, just take his clothes."

"Woah, wait, what? Why are we stealing clothes from the dead? I prefer these ones, and I'm pretty sure those won't fit you-"

"I told you he's not dead!" Walter paused to regain his composure. "If you take his clothes, you can sneak into the mercenary camp undetected and-"

The princess burst out laughing. "Right, like a pair of trousers is going to trick a group of mercenaries into thinking I'm one of them."

"I don't see the problem."

"Walter, I'm a woman. Wo-man." She circled her hands over her chest area for emphasis. "I'm pretty sure they'll realize I'm not this poor id'yit."

"You may be right."

"Thank you-"

"You'll have to get his tattoos and beard as well."

"You have got to be kidding me. Walter-"

"Yes, I think that will most definitely work."

"Are you listening to me Walter? It's not going to work. I look nothing like him, even if I were to get his beard and tattoos, which I'm not because I'm neither shaving nor skinning him."

"What? No! Good lord girl I swear the longer we're out of the castle the more like your father you become-"

"You're one to talk."

"It'll work, you'll see. "

The two of them stood there, staring at one another and waiting to see who would shout 'kidding! You were right, this was just a test' first.

Sadly, it wasn't a test on either end.

"Fine. But if I get scavvies, I blame you."

"Ah, speaking of which, it's probably best if you don't question where those stains came from."

She halted in her 'corpse' looting. "Oddly enough, now that you said that I can't _stop_ thinking about that. Thank you, Walter."

After the clothing was in her possession and Walter was left to his own devices, the Princess popped into the Sanctuary (which she still had yet to figure out the exact location to) and handed off the garments.

"Jasper, is there any way I can convince you to clean these? Or better yet burn them?"

He wrinkled his nose at the hastily piled clothing now residing in his arms. "I'm afraid not, Princess. If you want to pass yourself off as this Jimmy fellow, you'd best leave these as is."

"Jasper, please tell me you think this is as ridiculous as I do. There's no way they'll be stupid enough to confuse me with the owner of those."

"Many years ago I would have agreed with you. However I have learned in my time serving your father that the most moronic sounding plans often turn out to be rather good."

"But not all."

"Well, no. But such is life. The man was, despite it all, a genius; and Walter was always an avid learner."

"Did my Father do something like this once? Is that what this is all about? Walter wanting me to be more like Sparrow so he can recapture the good old days?"

"I do not know, nor is it my place to say." He smiled lightly and patted her on the shoulder. "Now, off you get. I believe you have some shopping to do?"

"Pffft. Never going to work, mark my words."

**-later, in the mercenary camp-**

"I cannot bloody _believe _this worked."


	37. he's a woman, she's a manSPARROW STYLE

**he's a woman, she's a man (SPARROW STYLE)  
>between Fable II &amp; III<strong>  
>Sparrow, Reaver, Walter<p>

* * *

><p>"Ok Walter, I'm here what's-ooh are we killing people?"<p>

"What?" Walter glanced down at the unconscious man at the table. "No, he's just passed out."

"Aw."

"You shouldn't act so down about it, you might give people the wrong idea."

"I've been telling him that for _years_. What are we discussing then?"

"Reaver." Walter scowled at the sudden appearance of Sparrow's shadow. The man had just returned from some place or other, and had yet to leave the Hero King's side.

"Killing people" Sparrow supplied lightly, oblivious to the young soldier's unease.

The pirate smirked, eyes sweeping over the tiny room before landing on Walter. "Ah yes, one of my favorite subjects. It seems you've taught your underlings well, Sparrow dear."

Sparrow poked the nameless goon in the face, eliciting a low groan. "Nope, really not dead. Huh. Sure looks it though."

Reaver clicked his tongue. "How dull. Perhaps your minions need better training after all. Shall I make an example of this one?"

"What? No." Sparrow waved him off as if he's just suggested they drink gin instead of brandy. "So what's the plan then, Walter?"

"Perhaps he just wanted to show you his prowess in drinking uncouth youths under the table."

"Nah, I've seen him take on bigger."

Walter cleared his throat, something he semi-regretted when Reaver deemed to give him his attention as well. "Look, if you take his clothes you can sneak into the compound and have them be none the wiser."

Reaver raised a brow. "I'm sorry, but I highly doubt our dear gypsy will be mistaken for _that_." He gestured disdainfully at the pile of person slumped at the table.

Walter crossed his arms. "It'll work, pirate. It did before, didn't it?"

"How would _I _know?"

He looked to Sparrow, who in turn looked expectantly back at him. He sighed. "Sparrow, you've done this at least twice. And it worked, both times."

"I did?"

"Yes! How can you not remember? The second time you were parading around as a woman!"

"Oh, right."

"Really now?"

Sparrow narrowed his eyes at the look the pirate was giving him. "Yes, really."

"I'm not so sure I believe you."

"Reaver-"

"Why don't you, oh I don't know, _prove it_."

"Fine. Next time such a situation arises, I'll bring you with me."

"Ah, of course! It would be much more convincing to have a gorgeous man such as myself escorting you about on my arm-"

"Oh no no no no no, I don't mean as an escort."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going. Do elaborate. Now."

Sparrow grinned mischievously. "You can be my handmaiden."

"Are you trying to insinuate your plan involves putting me in a _dress_?"

"Sorry, I didn't realize I was insinuating, I meant to be quite obvious, upfront, and pointed about it."

"How very _clever_. Bravo." The sarcastic comment was followed by a somehow even more sarcastic clap of applause.

"What, no demand for a gentlemen's dual? I'm flattered." Sparrow bowed mockingly.

"Look, I hate to break this up, but we're running out of time. It'll be dawn soon and-"

"What? How-"

"I've been waiting for the two of you for three hours, yes."

"Huh."

Reaver slung a companionable arm about Sparrow's shoulders. "I did tell you you're horrific with short cuts, did I not?"

"I-well-piss off I have to steal clothes and play dress up."

"I believe there may be a jibe about your manhood in there somewhere as well…"

"Outside. Now. Both of you."

"Aw, I don't get to watch?"


	38. posterstalking

**posterstalking  
>Fable III<br>**princess, walter

* * *

><p>The princess paused, eyes darting over the posters covering the wall. "Walter?"<p>

The old soldier stopped beside her. "Yes, Princess?"

"Have you noticed anything peculiar about the posters around here?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well," She pointed to the one closest to them. "Just yesterday, this was an ad for ale. And now it and every other poster has Reaver's face on it."

"I'm not sure I see your point."

"Yesterday I spent the day trying every ale they had here. Today, we're going to Bowerstone Industrial. The day before when you sent me off to pretend I was in an all male mercenary group, the posters were all of mercenaries. And before that they were conveniently declaring my brother an idiot who needs to be replaced by a hero in a skirt." Here she pointed to the kilt she'd found amongst the things left for her in the sanctuary by her father. "I'm beginning to see a pattern Walter."

He frowned, looking between her, the wall, and someplace off to the side that looked suspiciously like the jewelry woman's skirts. "Yes, it would seem you may have a point…"

"We're being stalked?"

"Hm, I don't think so."

"You're telling someone ahead of time as a way to brainwash people into liking me?"

"Don't be daft girl."

She stared at Walter, then the wall, then Walter again, face blank. "Magic?"

Walter had nothing to say to that particular theory.

"You're kidding me. You actually think it's magic? Walter, be serious."

"I don't see what else it could be-"

"You mean aside from stalkers, Jasper, my brother subtly letting us know that he's on to us? Any one of those reasonable things can't possibly be the answer? No one could possible know what we're up to, so it must be magic? Walter, please tell me you didn't learn war tactics from my father."

"What if I did? I don't see how-"

She held up a hand to cut him off. "Let's just go, Walter. But first, I want to stop off at the pub and grab a pint to go."


	39. gilbert

**gilbert  
>Fable III<br>**princess, NPCs, a wolf

* * *

><p>"I told you, 'is name is Gilbert!"<p>

"But he just doesn't look like a Gilbert to me."

The princess came to stand between the two mercenaries. "What about William?"

They looked at her, then at the caged wolf, then back at her. The one who wished to name it Gilbert frowned, the other nodded. "See, that I can see."

"I still say Gilbert is better. Come on Jimmy, look harder!"

It took her a second to remember that she was supposed to be Jimmy. She looked at the wolf obediently. It looked like pretty much every other wolf in the camp.

"I don't know…"

-An hour and a half later-

"But look at the color of his snout!" The princess pointed out.

"Yea, but look at the shape of his ears!" The pro-Gilbert mercenary demanded.

The other mercenary, who honestly could have cared less, was sitting on a crate watching the two of them argue. He sighed. He wasn't looking forward to the naming of the other three animals. It made him wish he'd never suggested to Saker that they get guard dogs.

"Bloody 'ell mercenaries are stupid…"


	40. familiarity breeds inattentiveness

**familiarity breeds inattentivness  
>Fable II<br>**Sparrow, Hammer, Garth, Shadow Judges, sacrifice girl

* * *

><p>"-but only one is needed. Whosoever holds the dark seal shall sacrifice their youth for the Prince of Thieves."<p>

"Uh huh, uh huh. You kno-ow…" Sparrow, ignoring the pulsing and wriggling of the dark seal clamped absently in his fist, eyed up the shadow figures before him. Particularly the one in the middle. The being reminded him of someone, someone rather important, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

He pointed absently at the shadow judge in question. "You remind me of someone. But I ca-an't think of _who_. And it's _bothering_ me."

The center judge shifted its weight from one foot to another, glowing eyes staring unblinkingly at him. It would have unnerved most people. Hell, the entire situation would make most men wet themselves. But not Sparrow. Whether the hero was exceptionally brave or exceedingly moronic however, was unclear.

"Do you have a brother I might know?"

The judges glanced at one another, but continued to say nothing.

The girl by Sparrow's side continued to weep, but again Sparrow was impervious to all but the thing on his mind.

"Uncle maybe? Sister? Father? Cousin twice removed on your sister's step-brothers side?"

More silence, and the seal had seemingly begun a bid for freedom from his fist in earnest now. He clutched it tighter, not really remembering why he had it in the first place. But that could come later.

"Are you suuuuuuure we've never met? Because I really feel we have. Have you ever been to Oakfield? I feel like I've seen you there. Do you know Hammer? Maybe I should ask her…"

With his free hand he dug around in his bag, fishing blindly for his guild seal as he continued to stare at the creatures across the giant gaping hole in the floor.

They wouldn't admit it, but the hero was beginning to unnerve them.

"Ha, right, ok. Oy, Hammer! Haaammer! Come in Hammer! I am the voooooice of your unconscious! Aaaaaaanswer Spaaaaarroooooow!"

"Can't you act like a normal person for one day Sparrow?"

"Ah good, you have answered the mighty disembodied voice's call!"

"Yea yea, what do you want? Some of us have things to do you know. Like sitting around and watching the spiders cover the place in webs."

"Doooo we know any giant see-through shadow monster people?"

"What?"

"You heard me woman! Do we? Ooooor someone who looks like one?"

"Of course not. Sparrow, what on earth are you doing anyway?"

"Well you see the one in the middle looks like someone but I can't remember who and-holy hell crap in a basket!"

"Sparrow? Sparrow, what happened?"

He had finally noticed the odd fog that had crept up around him while he'd been not paying attention. He'd also noticed that it tickled. In a painful kind of way, in fact.

"Bloody wanking Avo get it off! I don't want to be eaten by a mist monster!"

Hammer's voice floated in and out from the guild seal's newly found place on the ground where Sparrow had dropped it in his hasty attempt to rid himself of the transparent monster. The forgotten girl screamed, and the shadow judges chuckled.

"The toll has been paid. But let it be known that when the sacrifices stop, Reaver will be _ours_…" The judges faded out as they spoke, taking their mist with them.

Sparrow blinked at the ceiling, panting from the exertion of rolling around on the ground to rid himself of the mist. After all, it worked with fire, why not malevolent weather phenomena?

"Sparrow? Sparrow! Are you alright? Damn it answer me you bloody little ponce! If you've gone and gotten yourself eaten I'll weld you! Do you realize how much bitching I'll have to listen to from Theresa if you're dead? A lot!"

Garth's voice joined Hammer's. "Hammer? What are you yelling about?"

"I think Sparrow's gone and got himself skinned or something, the little pest."

"Sparrow? Can you hear me Sparrow? It's imperative that you answer immediately. Where are you?"

Sparrow grunted. "The ground. It's rather uncomfortable. And cold."

"What happened?"

He shrugged, and then realized neither of them could actually see him. "I got molested by a mist monster."

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I thought you said 'mist monster'."

"I did, Garth."

"There's no such thing."

"Bollocks. Tell that to the thing that just tried peeling me skin off."

"Mmm. Are you alright?"

"Think so…." Sparrow held his arms up above him, then his legs so he could see them without actually getting up off the floor. "My limbs are still there, and so's my clothes."

"What, exactly, were you doing before you got attacked? And where are you? The ground is not an answer."

"uuuuuuuh, oh!" He felt around himself, but alas his hands only found the guild seal. "Balls, I lost it."

"Lost _what_?"

"That key, seal, something-art..thing. Damn. I was supposed to deliver it to, uh, someone…hm. I don't actually know who…I wonder if it was those see through guys."

"See-through guys'?"

Sparrow waved absently toward where the empty throne niche was. "The guys who one of them I thought looked like somebody but I can't think of who…"

"Sparrow, _where are you_?"

"In an underground court, cave, dungeon, whatever thing in Wraithmarsh. Nothing special really, though there's some cool lighting down here. Well, there were those annoying black wisp people things and their pets…Bleedin' squatters prolly. Or they're part of those guys' families. Either way, they weren't very nice."

"Sparrow, did I not explicitly tell you _not_ to wander through the ruins there? "

"Uh…"

Garth's exasperated sigh was quite loud. "Sparrow, I warned you against that for a reason. The things that dwell in the marsh-"

"I know, I know. Blah blah evil blah blah. But I only went because Reaver said his friends were here, so I figured, you know, it'd be all nice and safe, have a sit down and some tea or somethin'-"

"No one lives in Wraithmarsh Sparrow."

"Not true! That slaver that picked me up does. Uh, did."

"Yes and what happened to him?"

"….the fog ate him."

Another sigh. "Close enough. Now this Reaver-wait, is it the same Reaver who is the last Hero?"

Sparrow snorted. "Course. How many sods you know named Reaver?"

"He sent you into the marsh?"

"Yea, I just told you, to deliver this thing to his friends-"

"Sparrow listen very carefully. What. Did. He. Give. You?"

"A thing. It's kind of like the guild seal, oooor the one I got from those monks in Oakfield after I accidently gave them the wrong bag that had all of my money in it-"

"He gave you a seal and sent you off into the marsh?"

"uhm, yes?"

Garth was oddly quite, although he could hear the murmur of Hammer talking in the background.

"Mister, are, are you ok?"

He glanced over at the timid voice, and blinked at the girl he had once more completely forgotten was there.

"Despite having been molested and yelled at, I think I'm pretty good. How're you? And who are you? Why are you down here? Are you visiting Reaver's friends as well?"

She just gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like she wasn't sure what to say.

"Start slow love."

"I-I'm Anne, and I don't know why I'm here. I-I told you, I read from a book, and then suddenly I was here…"

"Oh. Sorry. Must not have been listening. Hey, do you still have the book? If it can teleport you places, I think it would come in handy. That way we don't have to walk all the way back to Bloodstone."

She shook her head, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"You ok Anne? You look like you've just seen a hobbe in ladies panties."

"You-you sacrificed yourself for me…"

He blinked, finally pulling himself into a sitting position. "I did what now?"

Bursting out into full blown tears, the girl threw herself at him, attaching herself to his neck and sobbing into his shoulder.

"Uh…" He patted her awkwardly on the back, not entirely sure how to deal with the situation, nor how to ask her without sounding like a dick to please get the hell off of him. It was quite annoying, and cutting off his ability to breathe properly.

"Can't…breathe…Anne…."

She released him instantly, sitting back on her heels and hiccupping. "S-sorry." She scrubbed at her eyes. "It's j-just the nicest thing a-anyone's ever d-done for m-me."

Sparrow was still completely and utterly lost.

"You're welcome, I think. Hey, uh, what exactly did I do?"

She blinked. "You-you don't know?"

"Suuure I do, but I uh, want to make sure you do too."

"You sacrificed your youth so I could keep mine…"

He cocked his head. "Sorry, didn't catch that, could you repeat it?"

She did. He stared at her, waiting for some sort of sudden giggling fit women were prone to when a joke was being had.

Sadly, there was none. Neither giggling nor joke.

"He's dead."

"I'm sorry?"

"**Dead**. Dee ee ay dee _dead_."

Sparrow scrambled to his feet, smacking the guild seal to get the attention of his fellow heroes. "Tell Theresa we're going to have to find another Hero of Skill."

"Why? Sparrow, what is going on? Why do you say-"

"Because I'm about to go murder Reaver, that's why.


	41. wheel of unholy misfortune

**wheel of misfortune  
>between Fable II &amp; III<br>**Sparrow, Reaver

* * *

><p>"So you're sure it's still down here?"<p>

Sparrow swiped at an errant spider web. "Yep, I came down here a couple of weeks ago to find a guy who owed me money."

Reaver wrinkled his nose. The lower the stairs descended, the thicker the air became. He wasn't ignorant enough to assume the chalky substance he could taste on his tongue was simply dirt disturbed from the stone walls either.

"And does it still work?"

"Dunno. Didn't try it. Doesn't matter though, does it? You're going to move it anyway."

"Call it, curiosity."

Sparrow snorted. "Morbid curiosity."

"Perhaps…"

They made it to the end of the staircase at last, Sparrow fishing his lock pick out of his pocket to open the gate enclosing the doorway to the chambers beyond. "Here, hold this." He handed off his torch to Reaver.

"You locked it?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"To keep people out."

"I thought there wasn't anything of value down here?"

"There's not. But some of your 'friends' have made it their home."

"What friends? I don't have friends."

Sparrow gave him a 'right, whatever you say' look, then popped open the lock. "Leave that open, it's a wanking whore to try to open from this side."

"Yes yes, but tell me now of whom you speak. I'm rather curious-ah."

From the shadows came the spindly shadow minions, watching them with their glowing eyes.

"I don't think I can actually kill them, just make them disappear for a while…" Sparrow was eyeing the creatures warily, hand on his sword and wondering why they were just standing there. "So if someone wanders down here they're going to get eaten regardless of how many of them I think I've gotten rid of."

"Hm." Reaver grabbed Sparrow by the arm and led him further into the chamber, ignoring the creatures, who parted for them.

"I forgot, they can't attack you can they?"

Reaver gave Sparrow his 'I'm not discussing this right now with you' look and continued to lead him onward.

Sparrow let him, although he was reluctant to let his curiosity go on the subject. "Come on, you essentially fed me to them, and I want to _know_. _Can _they hurt you? Have they just been told not to, or can they really not do anything? Come to think of it….I don't think I've ever seen you legitimately hurt. Do you have-"

"That, is enough Sparrow. Hasn't anyone ever told you that lovely saying 'curiosity killed the cat'?"

"No, but I heard the one that goes 'curiosity gave the cat an extra nine lives for every person he'-ow! That hurts!"

"Oh?" Reaver pretended to be unaware that he was attempting to strangle Sparrow's arm. "Something the matter?"

The gypsy scowled. "Hey, I brought you here, be nice or else."

"Or else what?"

"I'll use that to test both our curiosities." He nodded toward the machine they had come all that way for, which now stood before them.

Reaver eyed the gleaming metal contraption, mind instantly jumping into action. "So this is the Wheel of 'Unholy Misfortune?"

"Obviously."

Reaver released his arm, moving closer to it. "Marvelous, it doesn't look nearly as old and dilapidated as I assumed it would. Are you sure it's over five hundred years old?'

"That's what they told me. Since the very first temple of Skorm was built, this thing's been around."

"And now it sits down in the darkness to be forgotten hm?"

"Doubtful."

Reaver chuckled. "You know me too well, Sparrow love."

"What do you plan to do with it?"

"It depends. How does it work, exactly?"

"I already told you-"

"Show me."

Sparrow sighed. "Fine. But you might want to move. Just in case."

Reaver quirked a brow, and Sparrow indicated the circular indent on the floor, of which the pirate currently stood in. "Ah." He obediently came to stand next to Sparrow, who was standing with one foot on the lever. "If you would."

Sparrow yanked the lever, the sounds of metal mechanisms moving immediately cutting through the relative silence of the place. They watched the wheel come to life, hand spinning about a few times before coming to a rest. Neither of them could make out the symbol, those obviously not an original part of the thing if their decay was anything to go by.

"Still works. Well, the spinning bit at least. Dunno bout the other part-"

"It's _perfect_."


	42. decorating

**decorating  
>between Fable II&amp;III<br>**Sparrow, Jasper

* * *

><p>Sparrow stood, hands on his hips in the center of the half demolished room, eyes swiveling every which way. Bowerstone manor, now Bowerstone Castle, was his to do with as he pleased.<p>

Which in his mind meant it was time to tear walls down and be rid of every trace of its former (in his mind vampire) owner.

The young man leading Sparrow's charge currently stood behind him, quill and giant scroll of parchment in his hands. He'd filled half of it already, as well as two more with notes taken at the new Hero King's behest. "My lord, if I may-"

"Bloody hell Jasper I told you, if you want to sleep in a spider free bed don't call me that!"

"Of course, Sparrow. Now, as I was saying, you have covered many things, but have you given any thought to lighting? I fear that sconces have rather gone out of style, and as the new ruler of Albion, you need to set a precedent-"

"The what now?"

Jasper gave his new employer an amused smile. "The 'bloody wanking wall things what's dripping wax an oil all over' as you referred to them earlier."

"Oh, right. What was the question again?"

"If you want to be rid of them, what would you prefer replaces them?"

Sparrow cocked his head, thinking. And then, his eyes widened, a grin splitting his face. "Chandeliers! Giant bloody chandeliers!"

"Would you care to define what a 'giant bloody chandelier' is, exactly?"

Sparrow spun about, threw his arms wide toward the ceiling, and threw back his head so he could see Jasper still. "Big as my arms are spread, see? From where we are, it looks like my arms are wider than the ceiling yea?"

"Yes-"

"So, I want them _this big_" He shook his arms for emphasis.

Jasper nodded and noted it on his paper. "Of course."

"And I want them to match the rest of the house!"

"I don't think chandeliers come in that color."

"Oh. Can't we make them with-"

"No."

"How about-"

"Also not possible."

"What if we-"

"As King, I think you should refrain from associating yourself with that."

"So-"

"No."

"….."

Jasper made a note on his notes, a small smile on his face at the way Sparrow was staring at him.

"Can I-"

"I highly doubt the servants would appreciate that."

"How do you _do_ that?"'


	43. teaching

**teaching  
>Fable III<br>**princess, walter, NPCs

* * *

><p>"Wow, have you always looked this cool?"<p>

She stopped, and stared at the kid who was staring at her. She had little experience with them, kids that was, as there weren't any in the castle. The question, however, instantly reminded her of her father, and his odd responses to many of her questions.

Apparently, she'd asked some pretty idiotic things in her youth, because one of his sugar-coated snarky responses was burning in her mind, demanding to be said.

And since she was supposed to be undertaking some heroic quest _just like him_, why not accept the challenge and be her father's daughter?

"Yes I have. Right from the womb, in fact." She struck a heroic pose and smiled her most winning smile.

The little boy blinked up at her. "What's a womb?"

Apparently, her parents had been a bit more open with her at that age. And, well, it just wouldn't do if her response wasn't fully understood was it?

"It's the place where babies come from."

"Oh. How do they get there?"

"_We-ell…"_

-20 minutes later-

"-good for nothing foul tongued harpy! How dare you say such things to my son!"

She ducked the latest object aimed at her head (a pot) and watched it sail into the back of some poor sods head, who she then proceeded to leap over whence he hit the ground in front of her.

"Oy cut it out already! It's not my fault you lie to your children!"

"Lie? He's seven years old! What gives you the right to ruin his innocence with such language?"

"Exactly! Seven!" She leapt into the fountain in front of the library, cutting across it in order to keep it between the two of them. "By the time I was seven I was teaching a Banshee how to play the violin so I could have my own theme music!"

"What kind of maniac-"the woman paused to chuck a piece of silverware at her. "Let's a seven year old anywhere near a banshee you little liar?"

"Princess? What's going on?"

At the sound of Walter's voice she bolted from behind the fountain to the soldier's side, ducking behind him in an attempt to use him as a human shield. "She's being completely over dramatic Walter! It's unnecessary!"

He turned his attention to the furious woman stalking toward them. "Madam-"

"Don't madam me! Your daughter-"

"My what?"

"Hey! He is not my father!"

With a put upon sigh, Walter pried the princess's hands off of his uniform. "What has she done this time?"

"Hey!"

"She-she-she told my son where _babies come from_."

"Princess-"

"He's seven, Walter; he should know that by now."

He sighed. "You must forgive her madam, she was raised with different…principles."

"Oh really? What was this father of hers then? Some drunken mercenary?"

"Close."

"Oh? Go on then."

"It really doesn't matt-"

"He was the king of Albion!"

Both Walter and the woman turned their attention on her at the outburst. Walter looked far too annoyed, considering how often he told people the exact same thing.

"Is she serious? She's not, you know-"the woman made a 'crazy' gesture. "Is she?"

"Yes, I'm terribly sorry-"

"Ha!"

"She slipped out of my sight while I was looking after her. It's not her fault you understand; she's been this way since birth."

"Oh my, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be so cruel…" The look the woman gave her made her suddenly suspicious.

"It's quite all right. She shouldn't have said those things to your son. I'm sure a little negative reinforcement won't hurt her."

The woman nodded, grabbing a fork that had found its way into the fountain. "Well, I should be off. Good luck with her."

"Thank you."

Walter spun and ushered her down the more scenic round-about path toward the town proper. "Can't leave you alone, can I?"

"Walter, were you implying what I think you were?"

"Hm? I'm not sure I follow."

She planted her feet petulantly into the ground and refused to continue walking. "About how I'm a mental case raised by a drunken idiot?"

"Princess, you know we don't want to attract too much attention to you-"

"And how is telling her I'm a loony and a danger to society not attracting attention to me?"

"We don't want Logan-"

"Walter, you tell all kinds of people who I am, including the poster fairy!"

"That's not the same."

"How is it not the same, Walter?"

"The people I tell are potential allies."

"And she wasn't? I know she wasn't throwing things at you so you'll have to take my word for it, but she has a wicked arm. She knocked a bloke off his feet with a well placed pan to the head! I saw it! I jumped over his fallen body! How is that not ally material?"

He gave her a push forward, forcing her to stumble and catch her balance. Before she could plant herself again he repeated his actions until she was at least moving, albeit drunken style against her will. "She has a family."

"So?"

"She doesn't head up an organization."

"So?"

"She doesn't have any pull in the kingdom."

"Bollocks! I'd bet my left foot she was part of some sort of mothers' organization, and if not she could always just threaten to throw household items at anyone who opposes us!"

"Be that as it may, the discussion is over, Princess. What's been said has been said, now stop being difficult. We have work to do."

"A pox to your work."

With a sigh, Walter quite his nudging and proceeded to throw her over his shoulder like she was once again a child.

"Oy! Put me down geezer! We don't need you breaking a hip! Hey! I'm insulting you! Put me down and demand I be nice! I swear I won't run away before you can grab me again! Swear it on my dead mother's grave!"

He scrubbed his free hand over his face, reminded of a very similar situation between King Sparrow and Sister Hannah. Like father like daughter, apparently.

That thought made him suddenly wish for a large pint. It was going to be a long rebellion.


	44. secret passages

**secret passages  
>between Fable II &amp; III<br>**Sparrow, Reaver

* * *

><p>"Well, what do you think?"<p>

Sparrow looked about the room, nodding. "It's nice. Nicer than the mansion in Bloodstone. Walls are a bit bare though."

Reaver sighed. "Yes, I am aware. However, the art of this age I find most lacking."

"Why not just do what you did before, plaster guns all over?

The pirate frowned. "I think I'd like to avoid reminding myself of that wonderful little mutiny as much as possible."

"Oh. Right. Though to be fair, you probably shouldn't have left bullets in those."

Reaver rolled his eyes. "So I realize now."

"Too bad nothing you brought from Samarkand survived the fire. Some of that stuff would have done wonders."

"Again, the reminding thing. You're doing it."

"Sorry. So, ah, where is it?"

"Pardon?"

"Your 'Rear Passage'?"

"Sparrow-"

"Come on, Reaver. I know you've got to have at least one hidden room or cellar or whatever around here."

"Why do you assume such a thing?"

Sparrow wagged a finger at the pirate. "Because you're you and the rest would be 'reminding'."

"Fair enough, I suppose." Reaver walked lightly past the Gypsy King to the bookcase at the far end of the room. With a smirk, he tipped a small red book toward him, triggering a near silent mechanism.

Sparrow watched as the bookcase retracted itself into the wall. "Why in the bookcase again?"

"Easily concealed, easily built, easily accessed, and relatively door sized."

Sparrow shrugged. "Still. You should put one behind a painting, or a tapestry or-"

"Yes yes, thank you. I shall keep that in mind. Especially when next I find myself in the castle."

"Just be wary of that picture of that fat lady down near the kitchens."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Sparrow shuddered. "I don't know where it goes, but the spiders are _huge_. And I'm pretty sure they aren't spiders anymore. They've mutated. Probably Lucien's old minions…"

"I wasn't aware vampires had spiders for minions."

"You wouldn't question it if you'd seen them."

"Why not set them on fire? You seem rather fond of that-"

"I did. It just made them smell worse."

"Hm. Don't you have servants to clean for you?"

"Yea why?"

"Send a few of them off to take care of it. If nothing else, perhaps the snack will appease your hairy squatters."

Sparrow nodded thoughtfully, already mentally picking out the lucky few who would be taking on the task.

"Now, shall we finish the tour?"

"Wha-oh yea." Sparrow brushed past Reaver into the newly revealed corridor, keeping an eye out for giant spider beasts without realizing it. "So where does this one go? Under the lake?"

"No, that particular passage is in another part of the manor."

"But you have one?"

"Of course."

"It goes to the guild cave, doesn't it."

"It might."

"Despite how you always complained about the place?"

Reaver waved the statement off.

"What did you turn it into?"

Reaver remained silent, though by the smirk on his face, Sparrow assumed it was something good, and so decided to dedicate his life to finding out what it was. Ignoring the fact that his life was now dedicated to over thirty five things, just from that week.

"Soooooo then where does this one-oh." Sparrow stopped next to Reaver just inside the doorway to the room at the end of the corridor. "Reaver, can I ask you something?"

The pirate shrugged. "You're going to anyway."

"Did your parents work for Jack of Blades?"

"Don't be absurd. I'm not _that_ old."

"The temple of Skorm?"

"Sparrow, what is the _point _of these inane questions?"

The gypsy pointed to the particulars that had spurred his questioning. "People sized cages. Torture rack."

"Yes, and?"

"What else did you take from the Dark Brotherhood's castle?"


	45. a pet for Logan

**a pet for logan  
>between Fable II &amp; III<br>**Sparrow, Logan

* * *

><p>"But Father-"<p>

"ah-ah-ah, no buts mister!"

"But Mother-"

"Isn't the King now is she?"

"Well no, she's the Queen but-"

Sparrow dismissed the claim with a flippant wave of his hand. "A tisket, a tasket. Logan, you're ten now! When I was ten I was getting my ass kicked by an old Gypsy lady after falling out of the tower window of the castle! I think you can handle taking care of a _pet_. You are my son, after all yea?"

Logan gave him that same serious, blank look his wife was so fond of. "But Father, couldn't I get a _normal_ pet?"

"Princes do not get _normal_ pets my boy! They get exotic ones to make the common folk envious!"

"You sound like Uncle Reaver."

"Ah, speaking of Reaver, I think now that you're ten, I should tell you he's not actually your uncle-"

"I know, Father."

"And you should probably refrain from calling him that now. He gets, ah, _unhappy_ whenever he thinks something makes him sound…old. Or normal and relatable."

The young prince sighed. "Yes Father."

"Good! Now," Sparrow rubbed his hands together and scanned the field around them. "Your new pet should be around here somewhere…"

The sound of a tree falling had Sparrow turning about, drawing his rifle, and grinning like a maniac in less than three seconds. "Come, Logan! He won't escape rescue!" With that Sparrow took off, leaving Logan to trot begrudgingly in his wake.

"If it wants to 'escape rescue', then maybe it doesn't need rescuing? Why don't we leave it be and find something less likely to make Mother yell?"

The Gypsy King loosed a bark of laughter. "My castle, my rules! If the courtyard gets destroyed, then so be it! In fact, I hereby declare it to be in need of remodeling!"

The sounds of nature being uprooted from the earth grew closer, the resulting tremors almost knocking the poor young boy off his feet. Had it not been for the unnaturally sturdy Sparrow, he probably would have.

Sparrow patted the boy clutching his belt for balance on the head. "Don't worry my boy, you'll get your sea legs soon enough!"

Logan didn't bother pointing out that they weren't actually on a boat, let alone at sea. He had much bigger problems to address at the moment. Mainly, the monstrous creature in the clearing before them his Father had decided would make an excellent pet for a ten year old boy.

"Father, please, I don't want a Troll! Really, I'd be quite happy with a dog, or a horse! Or even that spider you suggested earlier-"

"Nonsense! Besides, that spider wouldn't fit in the courtyard. At least that's what Garth told me. And I'm inclined to believe him, he reads a lot of books."

Logan shuddered at the thought of a spider of that magnitude. Against that, at least, the troll would win. Well, maybe. He should have told his father he wanted a Balvorn, or a Sandgoose, or a Dragon, as his little sister had. At least those things he'd never be able to find and subject them to.

"Father-" Logan was cut off as Sparrow clamped a hand over his mouth and dropped them both down behind a newly felled tree.

Sparrow motioned for Logan to be quite, and stay hidden behind the tree. At least he hadn't decided part of owning a pet was capturing it one's self. Although it may have been a sudden realization on the gypsy's part that Logan was rather small still, and quite incapable of such a thing yet. He threw a giant grin at the boy, who returned it despite his dislike of the situation, and then dashed off into the clearing.

"Hello again Steve! I've returned for you!"

Logan watched his father greet the creature like it was one of the family horses. Albeit far less happy to see him.

"Come along like a good boy, then. Don't want to have to do this the hard way!" Sparrow held up the rifle for emphasis.

'Steve' responded by picking up a rather large clod of dirt and tossing it at the man.

Sparrow dodged to the side with practiced ease, a frown now marring his face. "Now what have I told you about throwing things? You're setting an awful example for your new master."

The troll roared and hammered its fists into the ground.

Logan held his breath and watched as his father jumped and dodged about, occasionally hitting the creature with shotgun spray. "Come on Steve, don't you want to live in a castle? You'll be the most pampered troll out there! You'll be fed, and bathed, and walked-" Sparrow ducked a tree branch that came flying at his face. "Don't make me punish you!" A rock, this time. "That's it mister! Time out!"

Young Logan shook his head, wondering not for the first time if his father had confused 'pets' and 'children' in his head at some point. He was far too young to have to be thinking such things.

It took exactly five minutes and thirty six seconds of cursing and flailing about before Sparrow managed to bring the troll to its knees. Logan counted. He found it helped him predict the outcome of his father's…_schemes_.

"Logan! C'mere!"

The prince begrudgingly navigated around his hiding place, cautiously approaching his father, who was currently working on tying a collar on the troll. "Father, maybe you shouldn't be using the beast as a ladder…"

"Hm, maybe you're right. Right! I got it!" Sparrow dropped back to the ground, whipeing the dirt off his hands absently. "You remember that knot I showed you how to tie this morning?"

Logan nodded warily.

"Good boy!" He clapped his hands together. "I'll put you on my shoulders, and you can knot the rope then!"

Logan felt himself pale. "Father-"

"Up ya get then!" Sparrow, either oblivious to his son's discomfort, or ignoring it, grabbed Logan and lifted him easily up to his shoulders. "Don't worry Logan, I won't let you fall. Unlike a certain namless gypsy woman who did the exact opposite because it 'built character'."

That was oh so very much the least of the boy's worries. Standing atop Sparrow's shoulders, he was eye level with the troll. 'Steve', as his father had named it, smelled like rotting trees and dirt, its breath more like decaying animals than anything, and to top it off, it was filthy. Logan wasn't sure if trolls were born looking like walking hills, or if there was just that much dirt on the creature. Either way, it offended his need for cleanliness.

"Steve, this is Logan. He's going to be taking care of you, so be nice!"

The troll's large eyes opened and rolled from Sparrow up to Logan.

He held his breath, waiting for the troll to decide his new master looked like a tasty snack.

Steve snorted in what Logan would have considered disdain, if he hadn't been too terrified to think properly. As it were all he could do was blink as warm, thick air ruffled his hair and clothing and try not to think about the troll bogies that had just gotten on him.

"The rope's already around his neck, see? Just finish the knot and we can be off."

Logan, brought from his stupor by his father's voice, reluctantly reached out for said rope, eyes never leaving the troll inches from his face. He didn't even notice the large, disgusting bugs that had dropped from the troll's hide crawling about on his sleeves until he was halfway done.

It took far less time than it seemed for him to finish the makeshift collar, his father congradulating him as he stepped back and dropped the boy to a sitting position so he could grab the trailing length of rope meant to function as a leash.

Even though Logan knew he was getting far too big to sit on Sparrow's shoulders he didn't complain. He was just glad his father was moving away from the large, smelly beast he was supposed to call a pet.

"Come on Steve, time to go home!" Sparrow tugged on the rope so the troll would stand, which it did, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

And against all odds, didn't immediately grab the rope and fling Sparrow into the lake.

On the contrary, the troll merely watched the man, who Logan knew was grinning ear to ear if his joyful laughter was anything to go by. And when Sparrow turned and began walking back toward Bowerstone, the troll followed.

Logan had no idea how his father managed it, but from all appearances the man had just tamed a troll.

"Mother's going to love this…"

-later that afternoon at the castle-

Logan was exhausted. By the time they'd managed to get through the market and up to the castle proper, Sparrow had been stopped by no less than twenty three guards, had to calm the troll after some idiot had shot at it six times, and had to stop to try and pull the creature away from a market stall three times. The sun was now almost set, and Logan was dirty, tired, and starved. Sparrow had sent him ahead to warn the servants that the 'new pet' was here, and so had cut through the castle to beat his father to the courtyard.

He'd made it to the large doors leading outside before he was stopped.

"Logan! There you are! I was getting worried, you two have been gone all day! Where is your fath-Logan! You're filthy! What on earth have you been doing?"

He flinched, then turned to face his mother. "Father and I were-"

The sound of concrete being crushed and the crash of what was most likely a statue being pushed over cut him off, his father's yelling soon making anything he could have possibly said moot.

"Damn it Steve! Statues are people too! No! Get out of the flowers! Steve! Not a bathroom! No, bad!"

Logan shuddered. "Sorry mother, father told me to warn the servants about the troll he's brought home. I've got to go."

He ignored the woman's sputtering, spun on his heel, and trotted off into the courtyard. "Next time, I'm demanding a three headed chimera as a pet…"


	46. heatstroke

**heatstroke  
>between Fable II &amp; III<br>Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>"Oy pirate, c'mere!"<p>

Reaver sighed. The heat of Aurora was wearing his patience thin. And of course, Sparrow had decided to drag him about the bazaar in the middle of the day.

"Ah, there you are! Are you ok? You look kinda-"

"Aggravated about traipsing around whilst the sun tries to peel the flesh from my face?"

"I was going to say red, but I think sun burn is pretty much the same. Better be care-ful! You might get wrink-le-ow!" Sparrow rubbed the spot on his forehead the whatever-it-was Reaver had flicked at him had bounced off of. "I was just kidding, touchy today are we?"

"You called me over here because?"

"Oh yea! Here!" Sparrow threw a bundle of soft white and red cloth at him. "Clothes ala the locals. That guy over there told me they'd be cooler, and more appropriate. I think. His accent was kinda iffy."

"I may be mistaken, what with the impending heat stroke and all, but I do believe you just bought us dresses."

"What? I most certainly did not-"

Reaver held up his unfurled garment.

"Well that's-" He unraveled his own. "Damn. Ok, let's try this again-what the bleedin' ell is so funny?"

Whether it was the heat, the situation, or something odd in the water, Reaver couldn't help but laugh like a loon at the entire affair.

Sparrow gave the pirate a somewhat unsure, if bemused, smirk. "Tisn't that funny y'know. S'not like this is the first time I've been mistaken for a girl."

Reaver's response was to laugh harder.

"Right. I'll get different clothes, and then I think we need to get you outta the sun, mate. I think it's turning your mind to Hobbe Snot."


	47. a pet for the princess

**a/n: I gave the princess an actual name for this, only because i feel like her family wouldn't refer to her as 'the princess'. I named her Lark because from what i've read royalty named their children with the same first letter often, and because c'mon, her dad's name is Sparrow. 'tis my headcannon, and I shant be changing it! ...lol ;D**

**a pet for the princess  
>between Fable II &amp; III<br>**Logan, Princess, Sparrow

* * *

><p>"Logan!"<p>

He smiled down at his little sister, just barely seven years old and already the spitting image of King Sparrow.

"Yes Lark?"

"Logan, papa's bringing me a pet! Nanny just told me!"

Logan felt his heart jump skittishly as his mind suddenly began compiling a list of all the things their father could possibly be bringing into the castle this time.

"Brother are you all right?" She tugged on his sleeve. "You look sick…"

"I'm fine. Did she say what it was he's gotten you?"

She shook her head. "Uh-uh. I hope it's a Balvorn!"

He patted her absently on the head. She also took after her father in the sense that she thought vicious monsters would make great pets, regardless of if they actually existed or not. "Yes. Let's go find Nanny shall we?"

He led her by the hand toward the kitchens, hoping the servants would be able to tell him what to be prepared for. And to try to keep his sister away from whatever beast was about to enter their lives as long as possible. She may not have been old enough at the time to remember the troll incident, but he certainly did. And who knew what it was this time? Sparrow had been down at the sight of industrial all morning doing something or other, and so had to have found something there, but what?

The screech of a servant heralded the arrival of their father, and warned Logan that no, it wasn't a stray kitten. He stopped, sighing to the carpet as he waited for his father to round the corner.

"Lark! Ah, Logan being the good big brother I see!" He glanced up at Sparrow, who was striding toward them with a grin on his face and dust covering most of his clothing. "I'm glad I found you so quickly!" The king dropped to one knee as he reached them, a giggling princess rushing to hug him despite the filth.

"Papa, you're dirty! Nanny will be mad."

He chuckled, ruffling the girl's hair. "Nanny can be mad all she wants, I shant listen to her!"

"Father, I thought you were going down to oversee the new factory?"

Sparrow nodded. "Did. Right boring too. But!" Here he looked back to his daughter. "I found you a pet while I was there! Poor thing was all alone, scared the poor foreman half to death! But I saved her and brought her here for you!"

"Oh what is she papa? I'm so excited!" The little girl's eyes were large and sparkling. She was clearly far more thrilled at the news of a pet then Logan had been. Although to be fair, before he knew what to expect, he had been far more willing to entertain the idea.

Sparrow hugged the girl to his side with one arm, turning to sweep the other toward the hall whence he'd come. "Ta-da!"

Lurking at the end of the hall was a banshee. Who, incidentally, seemed to be fascinated by the trinkets on the end table there.

"Carmen! Come here and say hello to your new mistress!"


	48. there only be sea as far as ye can see

**there be only sea as far as ye can see  
>between fable II &amp; III<br>Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>"Reaver, I'm bored. Entertain me!"<p>

The pirate sighed. "What exactly do you expect me to do about it hm? I've already offered more than enough suggestions-"

"There's no more ale left, cards are boring when no one can beat you, I'm not allowed in the galley anymore, and I've told you ten bajillion times I'm not part of your crew so to hell with you and your deck swabbing."

Reaver chuckled. "I think you may have misunderstood that last one-"

Sparrow waved him off, jumping up to balance precariously on the rail. "How bleedin' long till we get there? You know I hate boats."

"The _ship_, my dear gypsy, is due to arrive by dawn." Reaver leant against the rail Sparrow was currently walking back and forth upon.

"Tisn't even night yet! I'll go crazy a 'fore then!"

"Oh I highly doubt it. One can only achieve certain _states of being_ once in their lifetime."

Sparrow paused in his pacing. "What? Reaver-"

"As it were-"A larger wave rolled beneath the vessel, Reaver snatching hold of the gypsy's belt before the ship managed to buck him off into the ocean. "Having attained such lofty achievements does not give one cause to act foolishly, and willfully endangering one's life on a whim is at the height of said foolishness."

Sparrow, having regained his balance, stared quizzically down at his fellow hero, who's rather placid expression gave him no hints as to whether or not he should be taking offense. "If you're going to yell at me, or whatever it is you just did, do it in English, yea?"

"Ah, yes, I keep forgetting who it was that raised and nurtured that simple little mind of yours-"

"Steve?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Steve, the guy who 'raised and nurtured my simple little mind'. He was the one who fed me the Bowerstone Old Quarter delicacy when Theresa demanded I eat moldy Skorm bogies."

"So the blind old bat wasn't as small minded as I assumed, having judged her on how you turned out. What was it this Steve person did?"

"He was a clothing vendor."

"Why is it I get the feeling your 'Bowerstone Old Quarter Delicacy' involves _shoes_?"

"Cause it does? Ladies shoes to be exact."

"Hmm, perhaps I shouldn't have bothered reconsidering your _charming_ guardian after all."

"Probably not. So, Mr. I like to change the subject, I believe you were about to give me an understandable translation of whatever it was you spouted off at me?"

Reaver smirked. "Ah yes! I believe it would be something along the lines of: 'You're an idiot, now get down before you fall down. I'm not sure I trust you to have the ability to swim-"

"Hey, I lived on a lake!"

"Nor will your seeming dreams of joining the circus ever come true. Now kindly stop parading about on the rail like a child, would you?"

The hero huffed. "Yes _mum_." Then dropped his ass to the rail, crossed his legs, and propped his chin on his fist. "Better?"

"You know Sparrow, you are the only person ever to step foot on this ship who hasn't lost their mind for forgetting that _I _am captain, and whatever it is I should happen to say is _law_."

"How would that drive them craz-oh." Sparrow cut himself off at Reaver's pointed 'back-of-your-head-vacating-your-skull' hand gesture. "Right. That makes more sense."

"Indeed."

"Soooo…"

The pirate quirked a brow.

"Entertain me?"

"I believe we just-"

"Oh! Can we fish for sharks? And then wrestle them?"

"No."

"But I've always wanted a pet shark-"

"No."

"But I'll feed-"

"No."

"And walk-"

"No."

Sparrow took a deep breath. "ButI'llletyounamehimandpethimand-  
>wecanteachhimtoeatthebodies-<br>-ofpeopleyoushootintheface-  
>foreasycleanupsoitllbe-<br>asynchtofeedhimand-"

"And yet again, despite understanding a third of that at most, I'm going to have to say no."

"But _why?_"

"Where would you keep it?"

"The tub."

"Have you ever actually seen a shark, love?"

"….No. Will it not fit in the tub?"

"Not even if you were to quarter it for _stew_."

"Hm, ok. New plan-!"

"Sparrow?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't you climb up to the Crow's Nest and watch for land?" Reaver pointed up at the enclosed platform nestled above the rigging.

Sparrow shrugged. "Ok."

Reaver watched the hero leap from the railing, vault from the upper deck straight into the rigging on the main mast, and then scramble his way easily upwards.

"Apparently this shoe vendor of his just _happened_ to be a monkey to boot." He snorted at his own rather poor but still amusing pun. "Oh dear, I do believe our young guest may need to be tranquilized for the return journey, lest he drive _me_ to madness…."

* * *

><p>an: since when does FF dot net have such an issue with using giant run on sentances that don't bother with spaces? good god, that took me ages to cut up so it would work properly


	49. memento

**memento  
>between fable II &amp; III<br>Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>It was staring at him with those creepy, vacant eye sockets. He didn't like it.<p>

"Reaver remember when we had that discussion about disturbing the dead and the balance of the universe and how we both know monsters do actually live under your bed?"

The pirate glanced over his shoulder at Sparrow, whom was standing on the other side of the den. "I believe so, yes. Both of them, in fact. Why do you ask?"

The gypsy tapped the metal thing in front of him, the _ting_ rather odd in pitch and timbre. "Cause this right here says you're a liar who doesn't listen to a word I say ever."

Reaver moved from the bar to stand next to Sparrow. "Ah yes, _this_ thing. I admit, it may have been a bit _crass_ of me to remove it, but I just couldn't resist. Something about it.."

"It's eerie, and it probably watches you while you sleep."

"Is that an attempt to scare me into returning it? Because if so, I fear you need to stop practicing for it before-hand on children-"

"It could be legit, y'know. I mean, that thing could have somehow persuaded you to take it so he can keep an eye on you, and thus everyone else in the kingdom."

Reaver stared at Sparrow for a moment, before giving his full attention to the newest piece of art adorning his Millifields Manson. "You make a very good point. However, unless you want to take the thing all the way back to that Avo-forsaken desert-"

"I'm good."

"Well then, it's settled! The statue stays, and neither of us has to go back to that decrepit hovel. Drink?" He offered one of the glasses of brandy he was holding to the hero.

Sparrow took it and downed it.

"My my, in a rush to get good and plastered are we?"

"It creeps me out."

"It's a statue. It cannot actually hurt you-"

"That has yet to be proven. Besides, I don't think any amount of liquor is going to make the creepiness that this thing practically oozes be lost on me. They weirded me the bloody hell out in Aurora, they weird me the bloody hell out here too."

"Come now Sparrow, I'm sure the strange, backwards people who once upon a time worshiped these bird…things could say the same about the _marvelous _statues idiots grovel over here in our resplendent Albion!"

Sparrow poked Reaver lightly in the chest. "You sir, are gonna make it ma-ad!"

Reaver quirked a brow, then glanced down at his own drink, which had magically disappeared. Apparently Sparrow had become quite the alcohol ninja. "Am I now?"

The hero nodded, then floated off toward the liquor cabinet. "Yep. You're gonna wake up to it standing over you, staring at you with those hollow eyes, and then it's going to eat your kidneys straight out of your gut with its beak." Here he mimed having a beak with his hands.

Chuckling, Reaver walked leisurely to the armchairs he'd situated next to the fireplace. He was far from concerned about a pilfered statue coming to life and _eating his kidneys_ whilst he slept. It was nothing more than a piece of art created by a foreign people ages ago.

Reaver sat, half curled in his chair and listening to Sparrow go on about some guy who murdered people and used their remains to paint pictures. The fire flickered as if hit by a breeze, and the pirate shivered, eyes superstitiously swiveling to the statue. It was odd, the thing, he was well aware. And although he didn't believe it would come alive and eat him, he couldn't deny that that side of the room was always colder, regardless of weather or the state of the fireplace.


	50. the gold pistol

**the golden pistol**  
><strong>between fable II &amp; III<strong>  
><strong>Reaver, Sparrow<strong>

* * *

><p>"Oy Reaver!" Sparrow slowed his gait as the pirate came into view, leaning against the overly extravagant table and pouring himself a glass of wine.<p>

"Ah Sparrow, back from your tiresome business in Oakvale already?" He didn't look up from the burgundy liquid splashing against the sparkling crystal of the glass.

"I was visiting Hammer-ah, Hannah."

"Oh I know, is that not what I just said?" Reaver finally looked up, a rather innocent look on his face. "Drink?" He held out the now-full glass, Sparrow only then noticing the second one sitting innocuously next to his hip.

He took it, if only so he wouldn't have to have a pointless fight over hospitality and whatever else for Reaver's entertainment, as well as his need to dodge the subject.

"So what's this I hear about you hiring half the blacksmiths of Albion?"

"Well, I'm not as oblivious as some might think. I've noticed the rising poverty level of Albion's common man, and thought I'd do my part to help."

Sparrow snorted into his drink, just barely avoiding death by wine inhalation. "Right, and I just built an orphanage with my bare hands out of litter."

Reaver gave him an appraising look, a smirk working its way onto his face. "Well then, a toast to us fine gentlemen striving to make Albion a better place for all." He raised his glass.

"And here's to the man who does it by commissioning a solid gold pistol from half the forges of the land." Sparrow clinked his glass against Reaver's, noting with pleasure the look of mild surprise on the pirates suddenly oddly still form.

"I find myself rather curious as to who told you that."

Sparrow waved it off as inconsequential, if only to spare Reaver a bullet. "Doesn't matter. But really, a solid gold pistol? What in the name of Skorm's crusty dentures are you going to do with something so gaudy? Ego-stroking's out, since doing that with a firearm is rather dangerous, so that leaves…what, exactly?"

"Because I am the best shot in all of Albion, and as such, I should have a proper symbol of my status, don't you agree?"

"Isn't the manor filled with trophies and the ship inlaid with gold filament and crafted from the extinct trees of rare-whatever symbolic enough?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Right. Shall I go fetch you your baby seal slippers and dodo-down house coat to go with it? If you like I can pick up a dragon scale holster from the corner market, have it encrusted with that rare jade from east Samarkand and rubbed in the tears of children so it doesn't hinder your-"

"Sparrow dear, do shut up." Reaver snatched the bottle of wine off the table, brushing past a half amused, half exasperated Sparrow. "I have servants for that." He flashed the gypsy a wink over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall outside the kitchen.

Sparrow shook his head and downed the rest of his drink.

-2 months later-

"What do you _mean_ it _can't be done_?" Reaver glared up at the filthy man standing next to his table. He was covered in soot and wreaked of sulfur. Obviously he hadn't thought to bathe before coming to seek audience with the man paying his wages.

"We've tried ev'ry thang sir, bu' nothan works. It can 'ne be made an' functan prop'ly."

"Are you certain?"

"Aye."

"And the other men _on my payroll_, are they in accordance?"

"They wha?"

"Do they _agree_ with you, on this?"

"Aye."

Reaver didn't even bother to voice any further displeasure, letting the crack of the dragonstomper .48 do it for him. "Fetch the rest of them. _Immediately_."

-2 hours later-

"Did you have to set it on fire? I'm pretty sure the barmaids would have been able to get at least most of the blood off of the floor-"

"Yes, Sparrow, I did."

The hero returned to watching the crumbling of the wood beneath the hunger of the flames set upon it. "I liked that bar…"

"As did I."

"I hope you realize this means I get to set fire to something in Bloodstone. Tis only fair, after all."

"How, exactly, is that fair?"

"This is Westcliff."

"And?"

"I told you, Westcliff is mine. Therefore, you've gone and burnt down my bar, therefore, I get to burn down yours. An eye for an eye."

"I wasn't aware that applied to _building_s"

"It applies to everything. Oh, and I'll have your blacksmith as well. Just cause he was smart enough to come up with an excuse out of it and mine wasn't doesn't mean he's not involved."

Reaver waved him off. "Do what you will with him, I don't care. It's not as if he's of any use to me."

Sparrow patted him lightly on the shoulder. "You're ridiculous scheme will work out next time around. Well, maybe."

The pirate chuckled. "Perhaps. Although I fear that for your sake, you should hope not."

"Why? Reaver, what are you planning?"

"Oh, you'll see."


	51. rumble

**rumble  
>fable II<br>sparrow, hammer  
><strong>

* * *

><p>An ominous rumble broke the silence of the well spring cave.<p>

"Whoa, what was that?" Hannah looked around the dank cave, eyeing the dripping water as if it might at any moment try to drown her. "Are you ready for…whatever that was?"

Sparrow, ahead of her, sighed. "Ready for what?"

The sound of water sloshing singled the shifting of the giant urn the monk carried on her back like a pack mule. "That noise! Didn't you hear it?"

"Which one?"

As if timed, the rumble echoed through the cave.

"That!"

Sparrow paused, throwing her a sheepish grin as he rubbed his stomach. "Sorry, that was me. Missed lunch."

She gave him a rather incredulous look. "That horrifying noise…was your _stomach_?" Sparrow shrugged, and Hannah, not sure whether to be amused or horrified, fished an apple out of her pocket. "Here. Eat this before you cause a cave in, or attract some giant monster with teeth bigger than your scrawny little arse."

A grin split the gypsy's face. "Hannah, I think you and I will be the best of friends."

* * *

><p>an: I always wondered exactly what noise she was commenting on in the wellspring cave. as it so happens, my stomach happened to make a godawful feed-me noise just before she spoke, and thus I have concluded the above is truth.


	52. dead before dawn

**dead before dawn  
><strong>between fable II & III  
>Sparrow, Reaver<p>

* * *

><p>"You <em>died.<em>"

"No I didn't."

Reaver lent casually against one of the crates left forever upon the docks, eyeing Sparrow with a modicum of suspicion. The hero was pointedly not looking at him, gazing instead out at the ships docked within the harbor. The rhythmic slosh of the waves against the dock was interrupted by the occasional splash of Sparrow's foot as it bounced in and out of the water.

"I saw you, dear boy, take a bullet to the forehead. Generally, one doesn't survive such an ordeal."

Sparrow shrugged. "I did, obviously." Another splash, droplets jumping high enough to scatter themselves on to the dock's planks.

Reaver wrinkled his nose and resisted the urge to nudge the gypsy's shoes off into the murky depths. "I may have been rather far above in the pointy floating rock, but I know a dead man when I see one. And you, love, were _quite_ the specimen if I do say so."

Sparrow shifted his gaze to his feet, blurred by the somewhat dirty water they were submerged in. "I didn't think Lucien would have kept the three of you conscious."

"Conscious isn't the exact word I'd use, but yes. Although whether he wished it to be so is beyond me. Madmen are rather _unpredictable_ as it were."

The gypsy made a noise of affirmation, and Reaver sighed. "Let's say I humor you. If you did not, in fact, die (even though you clearly did), how in Avo did you manage to get to the spire in such a timely manner? I'm fairly certain swimming would take one _ages_, especially with a fresh head wound, and even with your fancy Will tricks a ship would require a fair few hours."

"Will tricks. I think. It was that bleedin' cursed music box, sent me to a farm that was surrounded by dead burning people. Then it sent me to the spire. Did it all in the voice of my dead sister too, because the entire experience wasn't creepy enough apparently."

Reaver stared, dubious as to whether or not to believe him. "And all of this happened after you were shot in the face?"

"Apparently. Don't actually remember the shooting bit though. Are you sure it happened?"

"Indisputably."

Sparrow rubbed his forehead. "I feel like my skull says otherwise."

"Clearly your skull is a daft git."


	53. i stumble in your general direction

**i stumble in your general direction  
>Fable II &amp; III<br>Logan, Walter, Princess, Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>"I stumble in your direction."<p>

Logan frowned at the slurred words, not quite sure what to make of the drunken proclamation. He'd only just gained the privilege of leaving the castle grounds, so the habits of Albion's people were rather new to him.

Walter, accompanying him that night, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's a compliment."

Not wanting to insult the man, Logan acknowledged him with a wan smile. "Is it common place?"

Walter laughed. "Quite! You should feel proud m'boy, it means your people respect you!"

The newly crowned King of Albion wasn't sure quite how to take that, but he smiled anyway as Walter slapped him on the back before heading toward the pub to 'grab them pints to go'. Logan couldn't help but wonder if this had all been a common occurrence when his father was king.

* * *

><p>"I stumble in your-in your general direction!"<p>

The princess quirked a brow at the odd compliment. "Thanks?" She'd just managed to win over both Brightwall and the Dweller Camp, and although she'd been out amongst these people for awhile now, she hadn't heard that one before.

"How's it feel, m'girl? Being a Hero like your father?" Walter passed her a tankard of ale as he sat, grin on his face a mile wide.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. It depends, really, on what it means when someone tells you they 'stumble in your general direction'."

Walter blinked, and then burst out laughing. "Bloody marvelous! Your brother had a similar reaction to-well, never mind. The point is, it's a compliment and a bloody good one at that! It proves you're on your way to becoming the true Queen this country needs-"

"Walter," She held up a hand, stopping him before he got going. "I'm sorry but I really don't see how that's such a great thing-or much of a compliment either."

"Don't be daft girl! That's a compliment that used to only be given to your father, and now it's been given to you!"

She frowned. "Walter, how in Avo did my father think that a compliment?"

"Why he invented it of course! Him and that bloody pirate…"

* * *

><p>"-And with a single shot, I managed to take down the kraken before it managed to do irreparable damage to their ship!" Reaver twirled his pistol, casting a wink down at whomever he happened to be looking at. The pirate was currently standing atop his chair, one foot on the beer stained table in front of him. He and Sparrow had been trading stories of daredevilry and heroics most of the night, attempting to one up each other for their drunken audience.<p>

"Then what?"

"Why I shot the man with the biggest hat, then promptly laid claim to their cargo, of course."

Sparrow, slouched over his chair ale in hand, rolled his eyes. "I feel like all your stories end like that."

Shrugging, Reaver dropped as gracefully as his inebriation would allow back to the floor, collapsing gracefully into his chair and snatching the hero's mug in one swift movement. "And I feel like you should acquire us another round, dear Hero of Bowerstone."

By that point in the night Sparrow was rather nonplussed by the flippant request, and pulled himself upright with as much effort as he could manage. Navigating his way through the sea of people to the bar, he found himself rather amused at the fact that he could still hear Reaver over the drunken din of acknowledgement and heckling. The man was quite good at making himself heard.

"-and just when we thought all hope was lost, the thing showed us its dirty little secret and I got off one final shot, bringing it to its pointy, burning knees." Reaver was once more standing atop the table, gesturing to the gathered audience as a preacher would to his eager flock. "Ah, and there he is! Bowerstone's vagrant Hero, come bearing gifts for his fellow luminary!"

Sparrow raised the mugs, although doing so threw off his balance a bit. Reaver chuckled, a lewd comment clearly on its way. Always one to cut Reaver off before he could grace the world with a sparkling way to say something filthy, Sparrow held out one of the mugs and declared, "Here's to you, bastard Pirate King! I stumble in your general direction!"

Clearly pleased, Reaver took the proffered mug in one hand, and then promptly used the other to hoist Sparrow onto the tabletop with him. One arm slung about Sparrow's shoulders, the other hoisting his mug high in salute, Reaver returned with "And I stumble in yours, my dear little Sparrow!"

They clinked glasses, their audience cheered, and a new saying was born.


	54. the bet

**the bet  
><strong>Fable II  
>Reaver, Sparrow<p>

* * *

><p>"I'm not sure I want to be proven wrong anymore."<p>

"Don't be such a _spoilsport_ Sparrow."

The gypsy gave the apple in hand a nervous toss, eyes flitting between it and the pirate, who was currently attempting to tie a scarf over his eyes. The fact that he was having a somewhat difficult time only made the hero more reluctant, the sobering effect of emanate death probably had a lot to do with that.

Reaver, however, was just as blitzed as he had been at the start of their little contest and quite unbothered by it. "Put the apple on your head like a good little pet birdie, and once I get this-there we are!" Scarf successfully knotted in place, the pirate drew his pistol. "Have you done as your told, mon chere'?"

Sparrow shook his head, then realizing Reaver couldn't see him, "'Ell no."

"Oh? Why _ever_ not?"

"I've been shot in the face enough for one lifetime."

"Are you implying I'll _miss?_ My _dear_ you do _wound_ me." Reaver clutched a hand over his heart, a look of pain crossing his face. Whether it was for dramatic effect or heartburn from the gallon of ale, Sparrow wasn't sure.

"It took you ten minutes to tie the blindfold-"

"I'm the hero of _skill _not of _knots_-"

"You can barely stand up straight-"

Reaver made an obvious attempt to still his body swaying. "There's a _breeze_, thank you very much-"

"And you're not even facing me."

The pirate raised his eyebrows at the empty space to Sparrows right. "Perhaps that's part of the trick, the show, the amazing feat of skill!"

"I doubt tha-" The boom of the dragonstomper going off in the relatively enclosed space cut him off, the gypsy throwing himself to the ground out of habit. "Shit!"

Reaver hooked a finger under the blindfold and yanked it up, fixing his now freed eye on the bullet hole adorning the wall of some poor sod's house.

"Are you bleedin' insane?" Sparrow stumbled to his feet, squinting at the bullet hole as well.

Reaver ignored the question, eye shifting to fix on his companion. "Apple?"

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Sparrow went in search of the blasted fruit. It took him a moment, but he managed to find it, and when he did he sorely wanted to chuck it into the bay.

"Well?"

Even though he knew he'd regret it, the gypsy held out the apple to the pirate, a perfectly round hole punched through its center. The smug grin on Reaver's face made Sparrow's insides crawl with trepidation. "It wasn't on my head."

"That, love, is hardly _my_ fault. I shot the apple, blindfolded, and it _was _still technically on your person-"

"You could see through the blindfold."

Reaver yanked the thing off his head, standing his hair up in a somewhat comical manner. "Hardly. Don't believe me?" Sparrow shook his head, to which Reaver responded by getting in his personal space and pulling the scarf down over his eyes none-too-gently. It was still tied, after all.

"Damn it Reaver, take it off!" Sparrow reached to take the gaudy thing off, only to have his hands snatched by the pirate.

"Oh no no no no, I think you should leave it on, little Sparrow, I quite like this look on you."

Sparrow cringed. "Reaver-"

"And we _did_ have a rather _open ended _bet regarding my capabilities with a pistol and an apple perched upon your person-a bet which I clearly won."

"What does that have to do with me wearing a blindfold?"

Reaver leaned in close. "You never specified what it was I was to win, my sweet little Sparrow."

Sparrow paled, the sudden thought that perhaps Reaver wasn't as drunk as he'd let on crossing his mind in a flash of sobering terror. It was going to be a long night.


	55. limbo

**limbo**  
><strong>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Rose**

* * *

><p>Sparrow blinked, rubbing the spot on his forehead he could have sworn had a bullet hole in it not two seconds ago. Lucien many have been a lousy shot, but Sparrow's inability to move at the time sort of guaranteed he'd land a hit.<p>

Which is why what his faculties were telling him at the moment was utter bollocks and he demanded a recount.

Night had become day, and taken on the fuzzy sort of glare he'd come to associate with the night previous revolving around any and every sort of ale he could get a hold of. The craggy stone of Hero Hill was no longer poking him in uncomfortable places, replaced with tall grass that was soft and sweet smelling. There was no hint of the city on the wind, no rumble of it in the distance. This strange field filled with singing birds and the rustle of greenery was so very…peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Sparrow, constantly surrounded by idiots trying to murder either him, or every living thing in Albion, had sharpened his ever-useful bullshit detector through years of tedium and face-palming. And it told him that the world was a lie, because he was most certainly dead, and his brains most certainly decorating Hero Hill as opposed to rattling around in his head.

"Get up little Sparrow!"

He did just that, although his full-body jerk upright was more due to being startled than a need to obey an as of yet disembodied voice. A dead one, at that.

"It's a beautiful day, and mum and dad won't be back for _ages_!"

Sparrow twisted about, wary of the echo-y voice that could only belong to one person: his sister rose. Who, last he checked, was deader than a Hollowman.

"And there's so much to do around the farm! I've set up some bottles for you to find, to practice your shooting, and I think the chickens got out again, so we should probably take care of them. Maybe we can even go beetle hunting; I know how much you like that."

The space around him was devoid of long dead relatives, but that didn't stop him from staring suspiciously at what looked to be a farm house behind him.

"Do you need a hand up, silly?"

He twisted back around so fast it hurt, automatically pushing himself away and drawing his pistol. The space in front of him was no longer empty, filled suddenly by the presence of a young girl in a patchy dress and pigtails. Sparrow stared, lost for words as she continued to smile down on him, hand held out in offering.

"Well? Are you going to take my hand and get up, or laze about in the field all day?"

The way her voice echoed unnerved him, and combined with the hazy outline she cut against the world around them he could come up with only one conclusion. He was dead, so was she, and the afterlife was a hangover without the spewing of bodily fluids. Flicking the safety back on his pistol, he took the proffered hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

Sparrow frowned, realizing something was off. "Rose, did you get taller?" If he recalled correctly, he'd only been a foot shorter than his sister when she was alive and he was eight. At thirty, he was pretty damn sure he should be towering over her.

Rose tapped a finger to her chin in thought. "Maybe. It has been a while since mum measured us last. We should ask her to do it again when she gets back yea?" She giggled, probably at the face he knew he was making. "Don't worry Sparrow; you'll catch up to me sooner or later!"

Sneaking suspicion worming its way into his conscious, Sparrow looked down at the pistol in his hand. Plastic. The Red Dragon, which he'd won after days of neither sleeping nor eating (much to Hammer's chagrin) gone. The sever lack of weight to his sword told him it too was the toy of his youth.

"Being dead is bollocks…"

"What was that little Sparrow?"

He flashed an innocent smile. "Nothing." Although he couldn't be sure, as he'd never met a dead person other than the ones that smelled like mold and tried to eat your face, Sparrow decided to be on the safe side and not call attention to the fact that there was even a remote possibility he was on to the game, and that she was probably a zombie. He'd hate to have to shoot her in the head, especially since he didn't actually have a real gun anymore.

"So, mum and dad, gone you say? Does this mean we can play with fire, paint the chickens' toenails, and run around like arses with scissors?"

"Sparrow! Don't talk like that, you have to be respectable!"

"What?"

She leant close and stage whispered: "You said arse."

Sparrow, ever mature, looked her straight in the eye and declared in the best deadpan he could, "Arse, arse, arse, arsesity arse arse. Mum and dad ain't here; we can do as we please. We ain't children no more Rose."

His sister crossed her arms. "Sparrow, you're _eight._"

He dropped his face into his hands. "I _know_, stop bleedin' remindin' me."

**-break-**

The tiny bed squeaked as he dropped moodily onto it.

"Don't worry little brother; I'm sure Dad won't be too mad when he sees the window. It was an accident after all."

Sparrow rolled his eyes. Ignoring the fact that the window he'd _accidently _broken was the one Rose hadn't noticed, not the one he'd smashed solely as an experiment involving the mechanics of ghost houses, he highly doubted their "parents" would show up to dole out punishment, let alone at all.

"And I just know Mum will go easy on you about the stall."

He rolled over to face the wall, hiding the eye roll he knew would be noticed and then frowned upon. It wasn't his fault that being a dead eight year old had made his barely acceptable grasp of Will even less acceptable. How was he to know unreal lanterns exploded when you tried to light them with your mind? As Rose continued to prattle on, Sparrow made a mental note to never tell Garth about that particular incident. The mage was already wary of the combination of the gypsy Hero and magic, and he'd rather not have to go through Garth's degrading 'training' again.

"Well, g'night little Sparrow."

He mumbled something barely coherent, already well on his way to unconsciousness.

**-later-**

"Hammer…shut up, trying to sleep…" He yanked the blanket over his head, trying to burrow away from the whatever-it-was that had so rudely awoken him. "Tell the bard we don't want any." It wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up to a drunken Hammer having paid a bard to sing her to sleep, and no matter what horrible things he did, it probably wouldn't be the last.

"It's ok little Sparrow, go back to sleep."

And just like that he remembered, suddenly wishing he was, in fact, shoved in a tiny tavern room with the former monk. Pushing the mound of blanket off his face, Sparrow pulled himself up to eye the darkened room. Rose was watching him from her side of the room, eyes shining eerily. A soft breeze blew into the room through the open window, on it the sweet smell of grass and the unsettling familiar music that had drug him from the darkness.

Sparrow shuddered. Suddenly, the unreal day before seemed a far more appealing death sentence.

"There's nothing out there, you should go back to bed."

He ignored his not-sister, squinting harder out of the window he'd climbed up to. A gate leading away from the farm was the only thing in sight, the music the only noise penetrating the too quite farm. Sparrow got the distinct impression someone (who probably resembled a certain blind gypsy) was trying to tell him something.

"Sparrow, where are you going?"

"Adventuring!" He shot over his shoulder before disappearing down the stairs. The rest of the house was just as dark, resulting in two stubbed toes and a string of colorful cursing that was startling coming from the mouth of a seeming eight year old. Rose's voice followed him, creating the impression she was standing right beside him. She wasn't, of course, since the second he stepped out into the night illuminated by Avo knows what, it became abundantly clear he was quite alone.

Squaring his shoulders and reminding himself that despite appearances, he was in fact an adult who could most certainly deal with a creepy demon voice pretending to be his dead sister crawling up his spine. Just as he could shake off the unease the still night air imparted unto him, and squash the apprehension and dread worming about in his gut. The gate creaked in a nonexistent wind as he passed through it, the voice of his not sister screaming as the world shimmered and shifted around him.

Reality righted itself around him, stopping him in his tracks and making him wish for the second time that night he was dreaming, wrapped up in a smelly blanket in a too small room with Hammer snoring away like a balverine in the next bed.

* * *

><p>an: Why hello again! It's been ages it has. I come bearing some not so short shorts: i.e one long thing I broke up into three pieces. The Halloween season has inspired me, damn it, so now I'm going to attempt to write as many horror/monster/ghost stories as possible for your viewing pleasure. And why not start it with stories of ghosts, hell, and genies (respectively?)


	56. death-defying

**limbo pt. 2: death-defying  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow**

* * *

><p>"Bloody <em>hell<em>."

The world was burning, the stench of corpses fighting the sting of burnt ozone for rights to both his nostrils and his gag reflex. And despite the heat of the flames, he felt unnaturally cold. The unassuming gate (which he would now and forever mentally dub Larry the Liar) was no longer behind him, replaced with a haze that would give Wraithmarsh a run for its money.

All of this was wrapped up nice and pretty with the haunting music that had forever changed his childhood.

"If I survive this, I'm makin' it my life's goal to never get shot in the bleedin face again."

A moody huff and he was off, following the only path before him, skirting around flames and the impaled corpses they merrily ate at. From the gloom ahead came a haunting site, one he saw every time he found himself traipsing through Wraithmarsh: the enclosed bridge that lead to what was once Oakvale. And despite it being partly on fire and spattered with blood, it was in far better condition than he'd ever seen it. The paint was fresh, the boards unwarped and lacking in precarious holes; there was even glass in the window panes.

Apparently a bullet to the skull-hole was the key to traveling through time, something he'd have to bring to the attention of their resident mage. If, of course, he didn't get stuck in this crap-hole for all of forever. That prospect was not something he was keen on, and he made a mental note that if that should be the case, he'd find a way to break out and haunt Theresa's sock drawer forevermore. Because what was the point of being dead if he couldn't be the most annoying ghost in Albion? Maybe he'd take over where the Gargoyles had been forced to leave off, and spend his time insulting people into insanity.

By the time he reached the decaying stone structure he'd been oh-so-subtly directed to, he was grinning in a far more pleased way than the situation warranted. The sky above was churning with an apocalyptic palette, the air was filled with the crackle of fire and the screaming of ghosts, and the unassuming trinket on the central stone dais singing its haunting tune. Despite the seeming dire situation and the misery he was almost sure was expected of him, Sparrow was quite pleased. Plots involving ghostly shenanigans danced about his cranium, along with an unwavering certainty that somehow Theresa was intricately involved in this wanking experience just as she had been when he'd ended up locked in the Spire with his vampire arch-nemesis.

The seer was the reason the music box had become theirs, after all. And Theresa, ever the patient loon, was quite capable (in his book, anyway) of spending twenty-odd years waiting for the culmination of her plotting.

"Mental note to self," Sparrow reached, up on tiptoes thanks to his eight year old height, to take back the prize that had disappeared into the night all those years ago, and taken his sister with it. "Convince the grass to fulfill its threat against Theresa of strangulation via socks."

The cool metal of the music box began to warm as soon as it was in his hands, the mechanism winding and the top opening to reveal the light inside that had once upon a time visited him in his nightmares. "Ok magic box of lies, round two."

The thing vibrated as if in response, and the world tilted and went dark.

-break-

"Five more minutes Larry, the annoying starving people aren't going anywhere…"

When the usual response of a boot to the shins wasn't forthcoming, Sparrow cracked open an eye. He could feel the familiar thrum of the Spire beneath him, could smell the stench of unwashed masses and decaying corpses, but there was no guard yelling at him to get his lazy ass up, no grumbling from his floor mates at the rude wakeup call. Just relative silence and an unknown light source that was doing nothing to alleviate his headache.

Despite his desire to stay exactly where he was, the annoying little voice in the back of his mind that sounded far too much like Theresa was screeching at him to get up or be force fed Skorm's Bogies. So Sparrow pushed himself into a sitting position, the sudden increase in light and wobbling of the world forcing him to close his eyes. Something metal clinked against the floor, the noise echoing merrily and making his head throb.

"That is the last bloody time I challenge Troll to a drinking contest…" He groped blindly for the whatever-it-was he'd dislodged on his way up from the floor, still petulantly refusing to open his eyes and subject them to the atrocities the light posed. His hand bumped it, jumping to silence the noise it made upon being jarred, and as the shape of the thing imprinted itself on his palm, memory returned and he snapped his eyes open, headache be damned.

The first thing he noticed was how his hand dwarfed the trinket, a surge of glee sweeping through him as he ascertained the return to his grown-up body with his grown-up weapons. Sparrow slapped a hand to his forehead, barely wincing at the pain as his fingers sought the bullet hole he was 95% sure should be there. When he ran his hand through his disheveled hair and found the back of his skull intact, he returned his attention to the unassuming trinket he more than suspected to be possessed. He couldn't quite remember what had happened after he found the thing on its throne of deceit, but he had a vague recollection of floating in the dark while disembodied voices talked at him.

"Ok magic box monster, either you're possessed by a bunch of mad ghosts bored out of their minds, or I've finally gone off the deep end. Either way, _I'm on to you_." The music box continued to stay silent and unassuming, but Sparrow wasn't fooled for a second. After all, if he _had_ gone off the deep end, the theory of demons being trapped in a tin can was still the complete and utter truth.

Shoving the thing in his pocket, Sparrow pulled himself ungracefully to his feet, squinting against the light directly before him. Yet again, he found himself most decidedly not on Hero Hill, only this time instead of a pleasant, if creepy, farm he was once again in the Spire. He glanced over his shoulder, weighing the pros and cons of hunting down Filmor and demanding the return of his five gold in exchange for letting the 'mailman' keep most of his fingers. The pros were winning until he noticed said mailman's carcass casually draped over a load of other dead blokes.

"Bollocks." With a sigh, Sparrow conceded that with no other distractions forthcoming, he'd have to actually listen to the squawky Theresa voice prattling on inside his head. "Alright already, _mum_, I'll go into the bleedin' light. But I swear on Skorm's long lost monocle that if I end up dead again, I will haunt you _so hard_."


	57. of spire genies and the parting of ways

**limbo pt trois: of Spire Genies and the parting of ways  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver, Garth, Hammer, Theresa**

* * *

><p>Sparrow leant as far over the edge of the platform as he dared, trying and failing to see where Lucien had fallen. He wouldn't believe the old codger was dead unless he saw it with his own eyes, what with vampires being the undead and all (and with no one being able to completely disprove his theory of said man's vampirism, it was truth and as such meant it would probably take more than a bullet and an incredibly long fall to finish the villain off.)<p>

"Sparrow, be careful! We don't need you're daft arse falling off this bollocks platform as well!"

He waved Hammer's concern off. If he could survive being shot through the sheer power of awesome, he was pretty sure he could survive a little fall.

"I'm in agreement with Hammer." Sparrow shot Garth an annoyed look, the mage crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. "Unless you think it'd be pleasant to break every bone in your body?"

"Come now Garth, don't _lie _to the boy." Reaver interjected smoothly, mischievous grin firmly in place. "He wouldn't feel a _thing_ after he snapped that pretty little neck of his."

Sparrow's memories of being dead, although hazy in places, were still quite fresh in his memory, and he had absolutely no desire to go back to being an eight year old traipsing about in a mental's nightmares. So he crushed his curiosity and moved away from the edge, tossing the now apparently harmless music box back and forth between his hands.

"So..What happens now?"

Sparrow shrugged. "S'pose we could all go get plastered in celebration of our epic defeat of Lucien the Vampire kingpin."

"You mean our epically _underwhelming_ defeat of an old man?"

Again Sparrow shrugged, although this time mostly because he didn't want to explain that coming back from the dead made it epic beyond any and all doubt. "Regardless, we should-"

"Claim your prize."

Sparrow jumped, narrowly keeping the music box from following Lucien into the dark. "Bloody wanking _hell_ Theresa, you nearly gave me a bleedin heart attack!" The gypsy woman merely smiled at him as he stuffed the trinket away with one hand, the other rubbing his chest pointedly.

"Ah, if it isn't our favorite blind _hostess_. I dearly hope for your sake this prize of which you speak is worth all the _effort_ we put into getting to this charming little juncture."

"Gold?" Sparrow didn't really need to ask, but he figured if someone didn't bring it up, Reaver would do more with his pistol than continue to twirl it idly between his fingers.

"Indeed. You know me too well, my dear little song bird."

"The prize is Sparrow's, and Sparrow's alone, a reward for saving the world from a madman's selfish dream." Said Hero opened his mouth to contest this, but Theresa continued on as if he were an obedient child who wouldn't dream of questioning her. "The Spire has awakened, and it still has the power to grant a single wish."

He very much did not like the way warning bells were going off inside his skull. After all, he'd already played the 'make a wish' game with the unassuming trinket in his pocket and look how well _that_ had turned out.

"I feel like we've done this before. Have we done this before? I think we've done this before…." He pretended to look thoughtfully into space as he tapped his chin.

Theresa, as she often did, ignored him as if he hadn't said a word. "The choice is yours and yours alone. Come, take my hand."

Sparrow was quite content to simply ignore her until she gave up, except that at that exact moment, clearly realizing what he was up to, the voice of his not sister attempted to reassure him. The Hero flinched, and much to the confusion of the other three Heroes, not so subtly glanced around him to make sure that no, Rose wasn't standing next to him.

He decided then and there that as soon as he was back in Albion, he'd bury the damned music box as deep and far flung as he could. And if the voices didn't stay buried with it…ale. Lots and lots of ale.

"Fine, your _majesty_." The second his palm touched Theresa's, the world disappeared in a blinding flash of light, bringing his headache roaring back with a vengeance.

"_Warn_ a guy next time, will yah?" He rubbed his temples, willing the gremlins with pickaxes to vacate his skull-cave immediately.

Theresa chuckled from somewhere in front of him. "Welcome, Sparrow, to the heart of the Spire."

He chanced a peek from between his clenched eyelids, instantly regretting it. "Great. How about dimming the lights? Closing the drapes? If Lucien were here he could scare it away for me with his vampire powers…"

Amazingly, Theresa didn't bother with her Lucien-is-not-a-vampire speech. "You stand where once the Archon of the Old Kingdom did, thousands of years ago. And now, it is your turn to make a wish. But choose wisely, for it will affect all of Albion."

Sparrow rolled his eyes, open but hidden behind his fingers. "Course it will. Unless I wish for pie, then it only affects me and the cart I magic it from."

"I'm afraid it does not work like that. You have three choices; Sacrifice, Love, or Wealth." Theresa explained the ramifications of each choice, oblivious to her former wards displeasure. "What will you choose?"

"Still think I want to choose pie." He lowered his hands and finally fixed his gaze on Theresa, only partially hoping his displeasure was hidden.

"Pie is not an option."

"Well why not? It's just as bollocks as those wishes. Are you the wish master? The Spire Genie? Wait, no, genies grant three wishes…"

"You must choose either Sacrifice, Love, or Wealth. These are the options presented, these are the options chosen from-"

"But they're _bollocks_ choices. I mean, 'sacrifice' and 'love' should fall under the same wish, what with Rose and fluffnugget gettin shot by Lucien on his 'quest to build the Spire'." Here he waggled his fingers for emphasis, voice going floaty like his not sisters. "And more gold than I can imagine? I can imagine enough gold to drown the entirety of Albion. What's more than that? And how would you feel once all that gold smothered every living thing in the kingdom? Hm? Not to mention…." Here, Sparrow paused to properly word the odd thought that had popped into his head mid-rant. "You never specify if all the dead people you bring back to life would be, you know, _alive_ and not animated corpses that try to eat our faces soon's we leave. Or turned into Lucien's vampire slaves? Or-"

Theresa sighed, waiting for Sparrow to talk himself in a circle and exhaust himself into silence. She'd really hoped the Hero would simply be glad for the closure and move on as quickly as possible, but again it would seem she had underestimated him completely.

She wondered idly how long the other Heroes would be content to sit and listen to Sparrow postulate on magic, genies, and undead monsters before they grew bored and attempted to leave. Going on past experiences, she'd give it ten minutes, fifteen tops.

-break-

Sparrow stumbled a bit as he was spit out of the light filled room back to where his companions still stood. It didn't help that his eyes were most displeased with the sudden need to drastically readjust again.

"We heard everything but…"

Sparrow blinked at what he assumed to be Hammer, waiting for her to continue her thought. When she didn't, Reaver finished it for her.

"We grew bored of your prattling, and _may _have missed a few…_details_. So, Sparrow dear, what _did _you wish for?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Sparrow looked expectantly at Theresa. When she (for once) remained silent, he accented a shrug with a stretch. The Hero's Three remained silent, until Reaver asked the question the others didn't want to consider.

"You don't know, do you?"

Sparrow grinned sheepishly. "One second I was goin on 'bout bein dead, the next I'm blind again and just barely keeping myself upright."

"But he made a wish, correct?" Garth. "The Spire reacted to something he said, which is why he's now standing amongst us once more. And am I to assume you had nothing to do with it, Seeres?"

"A wish has been made, and the world will bear its consequences."

"That, is incredibly unhelpful." Hammer and Garth murmured assent, and Reaver, being Reaver, moved on to something of far more importance.

"Moving on to more important matters…what do _I _get? Cash would be nice…"

"Reaver!" Hammers single-word threat went ignored, being as she would have to plow through Theresa and Sparrow to get anywhere near the pirate.

"That, is entirely up to you." Clearly, Theresa was quite keen on changing the subject. "I can transport you anywhere you desire from here; where do you wish to go?"

"I do not in the slightest see how what I get is 'entirely up to me' when my choice is _limited _so-"

"I wish to return home, to Samarkand."

Reaver turned to regard Garth thoughtfully. "Oh, I've never been to Samarkand…"

"_Pirate-_"

"Oh, me either!" Sparrow spun to face Reaver, mad grin blooming on his face. "Let's go on an _adventure_, a _proper_ one! Sans loony vampire trying to catch us and eat our eyes; it'll be _great_! We can all go!" He swept his arms out in a grand gesture to include Garth and Hammer.

"Well that's great for you lot, but I'm done. As much as I've enjoyed fighting by your side Sparrow, I can't do it anymore. A warrior finds battle, always, and if I follow you, I'll spend the rest of my life fighting." Hammer turned away from Sparrow's sad-face to address Theresa. "I want to go north, to study with the Warrior Monks."

"But Hammer-"

"I'm sorry Sparrow, but I've made up my mind. You can come visit sometime, if you like. And a letter or two wouldn't be a bad thing…"

He watched, suddenly incredibly sad as Theresa acquiesced, sending Hammer off in her usual soft blue glow-y manner. "Garth? Adventure?"

"I'm afraid not, my friend. I'm getting rather old for nonstop adventuring. Perhaps another time? I'm sure our paths will cross again, either by happenstance or orchestration on one or both of our parts. Until then, Hero, have a safe journey. And try not to let that deviant get you into too much trouble, I'd hate to see you banned from Samarkand before I get to entertain you at my estate."

And then Garth too was gone, and the loss of his group was very much real. "I'll see you in Samarkand, my wonderful little vagabond. Try not to take too long with your heartfelt goodbye; I'm a rather impatient man, as you know." Reaver disappeared with a wink, and suddenly it was just he and Theresa, as it had been in the beginning, what felt like decades ago.

"Your quest is fulfilled, little Sparrow, and now it is time for you to go. The world is yours, but the Spire is _mine_." He shivered at the sudden change in his former care-giver's voice. The soft blue light of her teleportation swept up around him, and before it obscured his vision and whisked him away, Theresa's final parting word set his teeth on edge for reasons he couldn't quite name.

"_Be gone_."

* * *

><p>an: what _did_ Sparrow wish for you ask? That, is a story for another time.


	58. zombie

**zombie  
>Fable II ish<br>Sparrow, Reaver  
>preface: Reaver and Sparrow find themselves in an alternate universe were the Hollowmen are a titch more...fresh<strong>

* * *

><p>"This place sucks, it's all dank and rundown. Like if Oakfield had a slum."<p>

Reaver made a noise of agreement. He was rather worn out on aimless conversation, thanks to the night-long trek along the desolate, winding road they were _still_ following. Except instead of more nothing, they'd managed to find a town. A tiny, backwoods little thing that made the pirate cringe inwardly.

Sparrow, on the other hand, had become accustomed to random wandering, and seemed to be enjoying himself. It wasn't really surprising, considering he'd lived with gypsies for most of his life. And had gotten bored with Albion, confined as he was these days.

At least one of them was enjoying their little sojourn into an alternate universe with _nothing in it_.

"Regardless, perhaps we should find an inn. I do believe I've had enough of this wilderness thing you're so fond of."

Sparrow nodded, eyes darting between the oddly constructed buildings, nothing like what they were accustomed. Not to mention the odd steel contraptions littered around the place. Reaver glanced at his reflection in the glass pane of one of the things they passed, noting with dismay his state of disarray. Clearly he was no longer made for the great outdoors.

At least this universe was lacking in the monsters and mercenaries that still littered Albion's landscape.

"Do you think all towns here are this dead? I haven't seen another person since we got here."

The pirate frowned. He had, of course, noted the lack of humanity. "Perhaps they, much like the plebeians in our dear Albion, prefer to spend their nights asleep? As opposed to wandering about the country side or _entertaining_ themselves as we're accustomed?"

Sparrow stopped walking, spinning slowly in place. They stood now in what appeared to be the town square, albeit less square and more a line of things along the road. "Maybe. But you'd think there'd be _somebody_ out, it's not that late." He pointed to the moon, which indicated to them both it was barely after midnight. Unless, of course, the heavens moved differently here.

Reaver glanced around as well, taking in the dark shops and the glinting steel beasts sitting outside them. Movement caught his eye and he focused in on it. "Like him, for example?"

Sparrow spun to see where Reaver was looking. A man, apparently drunk if the way he was staggering was any indication, was coming out of an alley between buildings. Grinning like a loon at the sign of life, the gypsy made towards the newcomer. "Hello! It's great to finally see somebody, I was beginning to think your town was dead!"

The man groaned in response.

"I think perhaps your new friend has had a bit too much to drink." Reaver offered.

Sparrow waved him off. "If he'd had too much, he wouldn't be able to walk, what with being unconscious an all."

"One simply cannot argue with that logic, now can they?"

"Not if they hope to win." Sparrow was now directly in front of the stumbling man, a giant of a grin plastered on his face. "Really, great to meet you. I'm Sparrow, that's Reaver, and you're…?"

A guttural groan was all he got in response, the man's steps quickening the closer he got to the gypsy. Sparrow's grin faltered momentarily. "Sorry mate, didn't quite catch that."

"Perhaps the charming inhabitants of this hole do not, in fact, have the higher cognitive functions required to form and enunciate words as we do."

"Not helpfu-whoa now, I'm all for being friendly like, but I think you're gettin a bit ahead of yourself." He winced as the still-unnamed man's nails dug painfully into his shoulders. "And no offence but you really need to do something about your breath, mate. Your screech hole smells worse than Hammer's after an all night bender." And as disgusting as it was, the familiarity of it was making him uneasy.

It reminded him of the Spire, all dead prisoners and unwashed workers.

"How adorable, I think he likes you."

The gypsy wasn't sure if like was the correct word, going by the amount of effort he was having to put into keeping his 'new friend' from seriously invading his personal space. "Wonderful observation. Now if you don't mind, would you get him bleedin' off a me?"

"Can't handle a singular drunk? Why Sparrow, I'm disappointed!" Despite his snark, the pirate did move to intervene, drawing his pistol and letting off a warning shot into the air. "First and only warning, my good man. And believe me when I say any warning at all is a blessing you should be thankful for."

The noise seemed to have the opposite effect, the strange man struggling harder and trying to simultaneously grab a hold of Reaver, who was just beyond his reach.

"My, aren't you a stubborn one." Another shot, this one tearing through the flesh of the outstretched hand and lodging in the corresponding collar bone. A normal man, no matter the level of inebriation, would instantly stop for the sake of self preservation, if not for the sudden crippling pain. This one, however, seemed unbothered by either of those two things.

"Well that's odd."

"For Avo's sake-"A well placed kick to the shin and the man crumpled, leg breaking with a sickening crunch. Sparrow used the momentum to dislodge the hands on his shoulders and hop away. "What the bleedin hell is wrong with him?"

Despite his injuries, the man continued to reach for them, clawing his way forward. Despite the poor lighting, it was obvious there wasn't enough blood to coincide with the rather grievous injuries, and if the presence of solid flesh hadn't been obvious, both Heroes would have assumed the man to be a Hollowman.

"Either the denizens of this vacant town are rather more hardy then those of Albion, or we've finally happened upon one of this realms beasties."

Sparrow caught the pirate's arm before he could put more lead in the man, curiosity getting the better of him. Keeping plenty of room between him and their assailant, Sparrow walked a circuit around him, observing. Dirty, torn clothing, stains that although too dark to tell for sure looking an awful lot like blood, and wounds that instead of bleeding seemed to be festering and seeping goop; whatever it was that lay at his feet, Sparrow had a sneaking suspicion it was neither man nor 'beastie'.

"I think we should move on."

"But it's just getting _fun_." Punctuating his sarcasm with movement, Reaver followed his gypsy companion, not turning his back on the thing until he'd put a fair distance between himself and it. Unfortunately for him, Sparrow had taken that exact opportunity to stop in his tracks, the pirate colliding solidly with his back. "Do you _mind_? I-"He found himself cut off as Sparrow's hand somehow managed to clamp itself over his mouth without the gypsy turning around. Indignant, he wrapped his free hand around his companion's wrist and yanked in an attempt to dislodge him. When that failed, he tapped his pistol lightly against the head that was still inches from his face.

"_Look_." Voice barely a whisper, Sparrow pointed at what had nabbed his attention. A veritable horde of stumbling, groaning not-people had emerged ahead of them. Reaver again pulled at his wrist, though with far less force. Acquiescing, Sparrow held his finger up to his lips, causing the pirate to roll his eyes.

"As much as I enjoy having your hands on me, I think it would be wise for us to take this elsewhere." He was doing the math in his head, and although he was always prepared, he'd rather not have to waste a bullet for each of the shambling beasts. Not when it wasn't their problem, and they could sneak away.

Sparrow nodded, slinking off to the side, eyes never leaving the horde. Reaver moved to follow, only to have something sharp and vice-like grab at his leg. Hissing with distaste, he spun to see none other than their 'friend' from earlier staring up at him with vacant, hungry eyes.

"_Shit_-Reaver wait-"But it was too late. Reacting on instinct, the pirate put a single bullet between the thing's eyes, smiling smugly as it instantly collapsed, freeing his leg. Sparrow grabbed him, jolting him out of his murderous, gloating mood.

"_What_?" He followed Sparrow's aggravated finger jab, quite suddenly realizing his mistake. Every single pair of eyes were now on them, glittering eerily as the swaying masses turned as a whole to face them. And in the time since last he looked, the horde had grown to at least a good twenty if not more.

"I think we should disappear now."

"For once I agree. Shall we?"

Sparrows response was to grab a fistful of his shirt and yank as he took off, forcing the pirate to follow. They ducked into the nearest alley, weaving their way between various unnamable objects littering the tiny space. It was incredibly dark, and how they managed to not trip over anything was a feat unto itself. They'd made it nearly to the other side before they were forced to once more stop in their tracks.

"How _wonderful_, it seems the locals have taken a _liking _to us."

Groping their way into the mouth of the ally were another ten or so of the things, a few of which had a distinctly mismatched number of limbs. Sparrow spun in a tight circle, looking for another way out.

"Bollocks, we're trapped like Hobbes in a house."

"Shall we make a door then?" He fired the dragonstomper's remaining shots in quick succession into the shambling group, each bullet dropping its mark.

"So long as we don't have to make a window s'well, those are bleedin complicated." Sparrow unloaded his own pistol, the last of their obstacles dropping to the pavement.

"Why do I get the feeling you're being completely and utterly serious?" Reaver reloaded his gun on the fly, the soft clinking beside him indicating the gypsy was doing the same.

"You've never tried to make a window before?"

"_Why_ would I ever consider doing such a thing? I have _people_ for that."

"Right, how silly of me to forget that the great Reaver never does anything for himself he can't pay or threaten someone else to do for him."

"_Exactly_. What's the point of-"He grabbed Sparrow to keep him from having one of those things blind side him, putting a bullet in its head before his companion could complain about the manhandling. "getting your hands dirty-" the roar of Sparrow's gun very near his chest cutting him off, the beastie that had been aiming to grab him dropping as the back of its head was introduced to the wild. They spun in unison to stand back to back. "When there's someone _else_'s hands to get dirtied instead?" Now that they were out in the open, it was clear there were more than a few stranglers left behind the group.

"Oh I don't know-"Sparrow paused to fire off a few rounds. "The sense of accomplishment? Of-"more shots. "-Ok, word of advice, they only go down if you get them in the face-"more shots, this time from both of them. "Being able to claim sole responsibility for-_sod this_." Dumping the rest of his bullets into the skulls of some of the suddenly too close monster-men making their way down the alley, Sparrow made sure Reaver was following before they both bolted down the street.

"Have you ever seen Hollowmen this fresh?"

"No, which is quite a feat, considering."

"Considering how _old_ you are?"

"Unless you'd care to join our new _friends_ I'd suggest you silence yourself."

"Me thinks I hit a nerve."

"Oh dear, and here I thought you'd made an intelligently informed jab. Tsk, how disappointing."

They paused, pressed up against a building in hopes that the minimal shadow would hide them. "I think I preferred this hovel when we believed it to be deserted." All along the road before them the things wandered, no clear or easy path of escape apparent to either of them.

Sparrow huffed. "Any ideas, Mr. Intelligence Incarnate?"

* * *

><p>an: in the spirit of October and every cable network that participated in 30 days of Halloween (they still do that yes? I haven't had cable in a few years) I've decided to jump back into this collection with as many Halloween/monster themed fics as I can think of. AU zombies, frankenstein's monster, dracula!lucien, oh my! Classics and Cult icons beware, Sparrow saw what you did there.


	59. the GOD machine

**the GOD machine  
>Fable II ish<br>Sparrow, Garth**

* * *

><p>"Bloody Hell this place gives me the creeps. You sure your friend ain't a shadow worshiper? Cause this place reminds me of them."<p>

Garth gave Sparrow _the look_. "And how would you have such knowledge of shadow worshipers?"

"Cause I may be technically-indoctrined-but-not-really-because-I-was-curious."

The mage, now quite accustomed to the gypsy's ways had no trouble understanding the convolutedly rushed sentence. "Is Hammer aware you're a part of that asinine cult?"

Sparrow shook his head. "Nah, I uh, did it before I met her. To be fair I just wanted to see what was in the castle, didn't realize there were weird squatters in it till I got there. And since Theresa had just spent a good three hours telling me how terrorizing people wasn't the only way to get them to…agree with me, I decided to be nice to them. That bloody blind bat can make yer ears bleed, yeh get her goin."

"I am aware."

"So what are we looking for again? A body?"

"I would hope it won't come down to that. Ulfrik is a bit…eccentric, but I've never known him to put himself in an unduly amount of danger."

"Uh huh-gah!"

Garth spun in time to see the cloth draped over something that resembled a rather large bird cage settling back into place, Sparrow standing beside it with a rather perplexed and slightly horrified look on his face.

"Might uh, might not want to look under there." Sparrow turned to him, gaze moving to take in the dusty, ill lit room in its entirety. "I don't think he's in here. Moving on?"

He crushed his curiosity, knowing well enough that if something disturbed the likes of Sparrow, it would most likely give him nightmares for a week. "There's only one other place he could be. Come." They'd been there for what felt like hours now, combing the castle for signs of his childhood friend. Every room they'd checked and every room had yielded the same result: nothing. There was only one place left to look.

Sparrow leant over his shoulder as he pushed open the semi-hidden door, groaning at the sight of dark winding stairs. "Of course this place has a cellar, what creepy castle would be complete without one? I think you got jipped with your tower mate. All you got was that shoddy swimming pool."

He eyed the walls before them. "You may yet be surprised: if the amount of moisture on the stone is any indication, we may find your pool."

"Goodie. Well, Master Magic Men first!" The gypsy nudged him forward, grinning and making shooing motions when he turned to scowl at him.

Garth, of course, was unsurprised that Sparrow would demand he go first. Theresa had yet to fix his 'ninja lamp' (which he hadn't heard the end of for a week straight) and the mage had already made it abundantly clear that if Sparrow set anything on fire by accident or intent, pain would be involved.

The only indication of life (aside from their footsteps and Sparrow's inane humming) was the skittering of what he assumed to be mice. The tink of dripping water adding to the somewhat sinister impression the place gave off. Suffice to say, he was somewhat apprehensive as to what would be waiting at the bottom to greet them.

Even from a young age, Ulfrik had had a rather sick sense of humor after all.

"Are we there yet?"

Garth ignored him, more intent on listening for potential 'welcoming' parties. The lower they went the more distinct the crackle and pop of electricity became, putting him on edge. The amount of moisture present could make this a rather hazardous trip.

They made it to the bottom of the stairwell without incident, the flame Garth was using to light their way threw shadows to dance along the walls and the odds and ends piled here and there. They were, however, still distinctly alone as far as the main room was concerned: the amount of spider webs painting a picture of disuse.

"Your friend is all about the atmosphere innit 'e?" Sparrow drew a disgusted hand through the webs hanging before them.

"Normally I would agree with you, however I've never known him to go so far as to let his workspace become this…"

"Filthy? Yea, sort of seems like it'd be a bit annoyin to have to endure being covered in spiders every time you want to play mad scientist."

"Indeed." Try as he might, more than a few webs caught fire as they passed, the scent of burning insect mingling rather disgustingly with that of must and chemicals.

"Do you, uh, actually know what's down here?" From the room ahead they could see the flash of electricity sparking, and in the in-between hear what sounded like the hiss of a record signaling its end.

"Not preciously. It's been years since the last time I paid Ulfrik a visit."

"Well that's reassuring." Sparrow, though clearly keen on sating his curiosity, never strayed from behind Garth, choosing instead to lean around him in an attempt to get a better view. "So that letter he sent…Do you think-?"

"I'd rather not jump to conclusions."

"But-"

"Postulating on such…wild accusations at this juncture would be pointless."

"Yes _mum_ I know, but-holy Hobbe Snot. What….?"

The room they had entered was filled with more scientific instruments than Garth had scattered throughout his entire tower. And the center piece-

"Is that a bleedin altar? I thought-"

"No. It appears to be some sort of…gurney."

"Hung from the ceiling by meat hooks? You sure it ain't a weird sciencey altar? For weird sciencey human experiments? Cause I met this one guy-a grave digger or cemetery…master. And he had something like that in his basement, cept it wasn't on hooks, and it had a dead broad on it that I maaaaay have helped dig up."

"Charming. But I still highly doubt Ulfrik would-"

"But the _letter_! And you said you haven't seen 'im in _years_. Creepy old castles can mess with your head, and from where I'm standin'-what was that?"

Garth frowned. "It's hard to say, the way you've been going on-"

Sparrow made a shushing noise, the two of them falling silent and waiting. "Huh, musta been my imagi-"

One of the machines perched precariously on a table in the corner crashed to the ground, knobs and dials skittering across the stone floor. Sparrow drew his pistol, eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

"Ulfrik? It's Garth. I got your letter, and thought I'd drop in to see your work for myself." They waited, no response.

"This place isn't haunted, is it? Cause I'm pretty sure bullets can't kill ghosts."

"Not to my knowledge." Garth crept forward, light from the flame in his hand illuminating the previously murky corner. There was nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the broken contraption and the record player he'd heard earlier continuing on its silent loop.

"But you're not denying ghosts exist, which means there could be ghosts, which mean if there are ghosts here and they want to eat our flesh we won't be able to stop them because bullets don't hurt them because they're already _dead_ and-"

"Calm yourself, Sparrow. I highly doubt we'll encounter a ghost." He lifted the needle from the record, and then promptly turned the machine off. The fewer contributors to the basement's eerie soundtrack, the better. A skittish Sparrow was never a good thing, especially when he happened to be armed.

By the look on his face, it was clear the gypsy didn't believe him but was, at least, refraining from continuing the debate. The sudden lack of constant noise, however, made the pop of electricity all the more poignant.

"Soooo…wild assumption ti-"Another crash and clatter of broken machinery, Sparrow spinning to face the new possible threat hissing "I really don't like this place."

Neither did Garth, quite frankly, but one of them had to be level headed and he knew from experience it was most definitely not going to be Sparrow. The gypsy was only ever balancing just at the edge, or so far removed it was like he wasn't even there.

"Uh, Ulfrik?" Sparrow inched forward, squinting at the humanoid outline Garth's flames had somewhat illuminated.

Garth, however, had had his attention caught by something that he'd very much hoped not to see. "Sparrow." His voice was barely a whisper, and he didn't bother to make sure the gypsy had heard him, his mind filled with all of the sudden possibilities presented to him.

Sparrow followed Garth's line of sight, sucking in a sharp breath when his eyes caught on what the mage was staring at. "Is that-are those-"

"Legs."

"Are they attached to-"

"Ulfrik." He'd recognize those gaudy shoes anywhere. And the lack of blood and strange placement meant they were probably still attached to the man himself.

"Is he dead?"

"I think there's a more important question you should be asking. If Ulfrik has been there this entire time-"He turned slowly to face the corner they'd been approaching. "Then who is that?"

The creature-for clearly it couldn't be a man, tall and bulky as it was- turned to face them, as if just noticing their presence. It took a few halting steps forward, bringing itself into the ring of light.

"What in the name of Avo-?"

"Don't think Avo had anything to do with _that _mate."

Tall as a balverine and wide as a hobbe, the thing was human in appearance, if one discounted the deathly pallor and obvious stitching crisscrossing at every possible juncture not obscured by the filthy clothing. The mismatched eyes fixed on them, narrowing as the jagged mouth opened, torn lips pulling back over yellowed, twisted teeth.

"I take back everything I said-I'd rather have ghosts."

He grabbed hold of Sparrow's arm in an attempt to keep him from shooting the thing outright. "Hello there, my name is Garth, and this is Sparrow. We mean you no harm."

A guttural noise escaped the thing, strange metallic nodes sticking out from the side of its neck sparking in time with the loose wire that had first attracted their attention to the room.

"Years of monster hunting tell me the feeling isn't mutual. Not to mention your dead friend over there."

A roar that caused them both to jump and the thing lunged, all uncoordinated limbs and inertia. What happened next was a whirlwind of violence and shouting and running and _fire_. And before either of them knew it they stood on the unkempt grounds before the estate, panting filthy and shaking with residual terror and adrenaline, watching as the keep was slowly consumed by hungry orange flames and suffocating black smoke.

"Were you aiming to burn the place to the ground?"

The mage shook his head. "No."

"Oh. Well, on the bright side this counts as a funeral for your friend right?"

Sparrow's face was far too sincere beneath the streaks of soot for Garth to get angry over the crass question. "I suppose so."

Silence, save for the creak of failing mortar and beam, and the crackle of flame, then: "Soooo…Ulfrik's 'God Machine'. Does this mean it works?"

"I'd rather not know. Have you mentioned it to Hammer yet?"

"No, why?"

"It would probably be wise, then, that you continued to refrain from doing so."

"So-"

"I'd also suggest you refrain from telling Reaver, but as I know you will regardless, I'll refrain from doing so."

"Not what I was going to ask, but ok."

"What were you going to ask?"

Sparrow flashed him a sheepish look. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go get something to eat. Nearly gettin murdered an settin fires always makes me a bit peckish."


	60. sacrificial mixup

**sacrificial mixup  
>Fable II<br>Reaver**

* * *

><p>"Welcome." The three deep voices echoed off the walls and disappeared into the cavern below.<p>

Reaver, quite accustomed to the Shadow Judges' love of theatrics, was unbothered by the eerie greeting they gave. Of course, that didn't mean he enjoyed paying them in-person visits. "Yes yes, as much as I adore your…enthusiasm for your job, could we perchance get on with this little _party_? I _do _have things to attend to."

"You come before us once more to offer _scraps_ where once we would have _feasted_-"

Reaver caught himself before he rolled his eyes at them. It was the same thing every bloody time.

"But come before us without even that to _sate _us, instead expecting us to accept _expired_ goods-"

"Hey!" All involved ignored the woman.

"Did you think we would not notice, _Thief Prince_?"

"I beg your pardon? 'Expired goods?' What in Albion are you lot on about now? Don't tell me you suddenly expect me to cart children down here; do you have any idea how completely and utterly tedious that would be? I'd have to _carry_ the little blighters through the marsh-"

"Do not tell us, it cannot be, he does not know?"

The way the three of them took turns going back and forth to complete a singular sentence, once terrifying to him, now was just yet again giving him a headache. "Do get on with it."

The creatures laughed. "The expired meat at your side, the woman, she is undesirable, unwanted, unusable, frozen, _diseased_-"

Reaver glanced over at the whore, who was glaring rather petulantly at the creatures. She was quite pretty, in so far as one of her profession (in Bloodstone no less) could be, and far from being an old hag. He could see nothing wrong with her- in fact her eagerness to go out into the marsh with him made her one of the better choices he'd made over the years.

"She has no life for you to steal, Thief; your chosen sacrifice is useless to you."

At the end of his patience, Reaver introduced the dragonstomper to his 'companion'. "Unless you wish to have a rather unbecoming hole put between those pretty eyes, I suggest you clarify my associates' rather convoluted tirade."

She scowled at him. "I could say the same to you! You were going to sacrifice me to a bunch of see-through prats?!"

He pulled the hammer of the pistol back, the click shutting her mouth quite nicely. "Clearly. And as suspect as my behavior most undoubtedly was, you seemed rather keen on the idea of venturing out here with me. Why?"

She looked between him, the gun, and their silent audience. "You seemed like an impossibly easy mark. So much for good luck. You're just another murderous bastard involved in shady dealings. I should have known better, way you smell."

"Are you implying I stink?"

She snorted. "You _reek_ of those things." She indicated the Judges with a tilt of her head. "Didn't know what it was till we got down here." She blew an errant strand of hair out of her face. "It's bloody brilliant. Now I'll have to go all the way back to that cesspool of a city and find a new mark before the sun comes up."

That last bit caught his attention, reminding him of something Sparrow had said during one of his many tirades. "What are you? You wouldn't happen to be a _vampire_, would you?"

She flashed him a mirthless grin, all pointy teeth and unspoken assent. And as aggravating as it was that he would have to find another little follower for his annual 'party', he was suddenly quite pleased. Far more so than anyone rightly should be when faced with a vampire.

But then, he wasn't just _anyone, _and Sparrow _had_ been rather insistent that they go on a sojourn to find one of the beasties….

He watched her eyes narrow at the rather nasty grin growing on his face. "Well in _that _case, why don't you join me on a little trip to Bowerstone? I have a friend who would absolutely _love _to meet you." Not to mention if they took the Cullis gate to Hero Hill (of which, as with the others, Garth and Sparrow had managed to fix so that it would transport you to whichever one you fancied), he would be able to postpone the trek back to Bloodstone.

"Why do I feel like I don't have a choice?"

He chuckled. "Because, my dear, you _don't_. As for the three of you, well, I'll be back once I've finished with her. An honest mistake, you understand. These beasties do rather look quite like people, after all."


	61. safe haven

**zombies! pt 2: safe haven  
>AUverse Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and somewhere down below them ambling rot-monsters were looking for faces to eat. The plus side being that said not-so-hollow Hollowmen couldn't understand the simple concept of ladders, or stairs. Thus their hidey-hole on the second floor was nigh impenetrable.<p>

It helped that whoever had lived there before they arrived had barricaded the door and all but the one window they'd come in through.

Neither of them put much thought into who those particular people had been, what had inevitably happened to them, or if they'd been among the dozen or so to have their minds painted on the concrete the night before. What they did put thought into, however, was the function of the strange contraptions littering the apartment.

So far, Sparrow had managed to shock himself, burn himself (and his clothing), flood two separate rooms, break over a dozen various things, and trek gore through the entirety of the place. The latter of which he was still in the process of perfecting.

"How did you even manage to get blood there?"

The gypsy shrugged, already moving on to playing with something that resembled a torture device. "Probably when I slipped in that pile of entrails. Or when I accidentally dove into that stack of bodies hiding behind that green thing."

"Not on _you_, on _that_." He indicated a rather shiny cylindrical object perched atop the cupboards behind them.

Sparrow glanced up at it, did a double take, then frowned. "Dunno. I never touched it. Didn't even know it was up there."

Now it was Reaver's turn to frown. "Well _I_ certainly never touched."

"Then who-?"

The creaking of the kitchen door behind them made them stiffen, turning slowly. Standing there, staring blankly at them was a woman of about thirty clothed in a rather revealing satin dress stained with blood. The way she was groaning and drooling on herself indicated she probably wasn't simply a perturbed resident wondering who in the hell they were.

"Maaaybe we should have, y'know, checked the place fer those things before we decided to stay here."

"You think?"

Reaver raised his gun, but Sparrow caught his arm. "Remember what happened last time?! Bloody hell Reaver, you want the entire population of face-eating monsters to know where we are? Just cause they ain't tried to climb up here yet don't mean they won't."

The pirate sighed. "Fine. _You_ deal with it then." He then promptly turned away and began rummaging through the kitchen cupboards in a quest for either liquor or passable food, both of which he desired desperately.

Hefting the rather weighty object he'd been toying with, he glanced between it and the woman's head, trying to decide id it'd do the trick. His sword happening to be in the other room with the rest of his and Reaver's crap. "Right. If this works you at least gonna help me dump the thing outta the window or somethin'?"

Reaver made a noise that was neither agreement nor derisive laughter, only half paying attention now that he found a bottle of what most definitely smelled like whiskey. There was a wet crack and the thud of dead weight hitting the ground, Reaver turning (glasses in hand) to see Sparrow nudging the creature with his foot. The whatever-it-was had caved the creature's face in rather well, spattering blood all over the once relatively clean side of the kitchen space.

"My _Hero_." He handed the extra glass to Sparrow, who took it with a roll of the eyes.

"I still ain't got a clue what this thing's s'posed to be." He twirled the now bloody square metal thing in his fingers.

Reaver shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"No, but it's going to _bother_ me. Same with the rest of this junk. T'ain't no one here to tell me what _any _of it is, so I'll _never know_. Doesn't it annoy you?"

Reaver took a sip of his drink, winced at the abhorrent taste of what was attempting to call itself whiskey in this realm, then stated quite matter-of-factly "Not in the slightest."

He was lying, of course, but admitting such would mean Sparrow would be disinclined to drop the subject.

"Right. So you gonna help me get rid of her, or we gonna let her stink up the place?"

"If we must."

"We should probably make sure their ain't more of 'em in here too."

"That would seem to be the smart course of action. I'm quite surprised you didn't do so earlier, when you first insisted we climb up here."

"Shut up, you didn't think of it either."

Reaver waved him off. "You're the _adventurer_, I'm just a humble _business man_."

"Right. You're as harmless and unassuming as the Pox."

* * *

><p>an: the thing Sparrow used as a bludgeoning device was a waffle iron btw, in case anyone was wondering.


	62. a heartfelt reunion

**a heartfelt reunion  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Garth, Chesty**

* * *

><p>"<em>What<em>?" Garth stared in disbelief at the gypsy lounging nearing the fire. "Sparrow, I specifically left instructions to _not_ use that bed. You could have been killed, or worse-"

"Relax, Garth, I'm quite alright as you can see. 'Sides, it was fun!" He sighed. "Imma miss that murderous little blighter…"

Garth dropped his face into his hands and rubbed vigorously. He'd been rather pleased when he found out the Hero had been the one to purchase his tower here in Brightwood, making his return to it far less of a hassle than had someone unknown to him taken up residence. But this….

"Do you have _any idea_ what that creature is capable of? What it could have _done _to you?"

Sparrow shrugged. "I wager it was just lonely. Seemed pretty keen on keeping me there to play with it-"

"Sparrow, if you've met the thing then you know very well 'playing' was the last thing on its mind."

"Have _you _actually met it?"

"Yes!"

Sparrow gave his exasperation one of those patented 'I'm humoring you right now' looks, that only served to aggravate the mage further. "Well then there you go! Chesty just wanted a friend to share his toys with-"

"And by toys you mean the monsters it'd been keeping as pets in that nightmare world?"

A reluctant 'yea' was the gypsy's response. Seeing the rather nasty look Garth was pointing at him, Sparrow stood. "Come on Garth, you have to admit he added a bit of fun to the place!" He swept his arms wide, grin firmly in place. "Best night I ever spent alone in a bed at the top of a tower, hands down."

Garth refrained from asking when, if ever, he'd spent another night 'alone in a bed at the top of a tower'. He was fairly sure he wouldn't like the answer if it was something other than 'never'.

"And I really do mean it, y'know. It'd be fun if ol' Chesty was still loiterin' about upstairs. We coulda gone to pay it a visit, us two little kids against the dream-world!" Sparrow gave him a mischievous look. "'Sides, I'm rather curious as to what you looked like as a kid…Did you have the monocle then too?"

Garth ignored the question. "I know you have a rather unhealthy fascination with murderous creatures, but what in the name of the Archon makes you think I'd agree to join you?"

Sparrow gave him a pouty look, one the mage recognized well: he'd seen Sparrow use it on Hammer on more than one occasion. "Because you love me and wouldn't want me to go alone case I died. 'Sides," Sparrow turned to absently toy with the things strewn about on the desk he stood by. "You'd be too curious _not _to go."

He refused to admit the gypsy may have had a point. He'd done a fair few idiotic things out of sheer wanting to _know_.

"Hey Garth?" Sparrow had plucked a piece of parchment from the pile of stuff before him, and was now holding it in front of him, far too still and suddenly soft spoken for it to be anything good (be it the actual parchment or something that had popped into his head.) "We aren't asleep, are we?"

The mage blinked. That was a question he had not expected in the least. "Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

Sparrow turned holding the letter out to him, eyes wide. Garth took it, then promptly paled.

_Dear super best friends,_

_I'm awfully glad you came back, it was getting so lonely here without you. My toys got all fixed and had no one to play with them. But now that you're here, it's all better again, and my toys will be so very happy to see you. They missed you almost as much as I did. But they didn't, which is good because if they had I would have had to break them again. Can't have them thinking you're __**their**__ super best friends, when you're __**mine**__, now can I? I very much hope you have as much fun playing with them as I do watching them try to tear you into tiny little pieces._

_With all my love, your very best friend,  
>Chesty<em>

_P.S: Look up!_

Oh so slowly, heart beating painfully against his ribcage, Garth lifted his gaze to Sparrow, who was trying and failing to suppress a grin. In unison, the two of them lifted their gazes upward.

And met the glittering gazes of Chesty's toys staring back at them from the rafters.


	63. ghost ale

**ghost ale  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Max & Sam, Reaver, Garth, Hammer, Max & Sam's Mum**

* * *

><p>"Well, if it isn't my two favorite summoners of all things undead!"<p>

Sam and Max jumped as Sparrow's arms came down around their shoulders, both looking back at him with the wide eyes of children caught doing something they shouldn't have.

"Oh, ah, hello again adventurer."

"Yes, ehe, hello again. Fancy meeting you here."

"Please, guys, call me Sparrow. I think we've been through enough bollocks for first name basis's don't ya think?"

They glanced and one another before nodding. Sparrow gave them a wolfish grin. "Sooo, what'cha doing so far from home?" Last he'd seen of them, they'd been getting reprimanded by their mother in the Cow and Corset in Bowerstone, which was a far cry from the forest just outside Westcliff, where they stood now.

Now they truly looked nervous, Max casting a furtive glance to a suspiciously book shaped lump in Sam's coat. "Oh, nothing in particular."

"Yea, nothing potentially life threatening or involving the raising of the dead-"

"Or the summoning of banshees-"

"Yes, or that. Nothing of the sort."

Sparrow pulled them closer, rather enjoying their discomfort. "Come on guys, we're all friends here, you can tell me what you're up to. S'not like I'll tell yer mum."

"Well-"

"You _did_ forget to mention that whole business with the banshee to her-"

"And the graveyard-"

"And the tomb-"

Sparrow nodded. "See? You can trust me!"

"We may or may not have been trying to see if the spell regarding balverine mind control worked-"

"_Allegedly_"

"What? That doesn't make any sense-"

"As fun as that sounds, and really it'd be _quite_ the site if it did work, why don't we try something less hazardous to your limbs?"

"You-you _want _us to use the Normanomicon?!"

Sparrow looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. Truth be told, he rather enjoyed the chaos the two of them caused. He was a sucker for dire circumstances, and damn all if he didn't love seeing someone other than him fail miserably at magic.

Sam pulled the book from its hiding place on his person, flipping it open and searching through the pages. "How about-"

The gypsy wrinkled his nose. "Not on your life. I refuse to clean that up."

"Right. Ah, how about-"

"_No_. I've had enough of that for a lifetime, thanks."

Ten more suggestions later, and Sparrow was growing impatient. Plucking the volume from his new-found partner in crime's hands, the Hero began skimming through it in search of something that was both harmless, and entertaining.

"Ah, how about this little spell here?" He turned the book so the two of them could see what had caught his eye.

They both frowned. "But we can't! Mother said-"

"You're kidding." Sparrow deadpanned, shock evident on his face. "All the shite you've summoned, destroyed, and unleashed, and _this_ is what you have a problem with? This harmless little thing is where you draw the line?"

The brothers exchanged a glance. "Well, yea-"

"You two need to live a little. I think something this harmless is just what you need. It fulfills your need to summon things, and I don't have to waste bullets on monsters. Come on, what can happen?"

Sparrow held the book out to Sam, who took it hesitantly. "Well, alright. But if we get in trouble-"

"Yea yea, my fault. I can handle your mum. I've dealt with an angry old woman nearly all me life, I think I can survive yer mum."

"Right then!" The two became incredibly cheery, leaning in close over the text.

Sparrow clapped his hands together. "Let's get this party started!"

-6 hours later-

Reaver awoke with a start from where he'd been dozing in the Chamber of Fate, glancing blearily about for the source of the disturbance.

"Oh dear." Garth dropped his forehead into his palm. Hammer just groaned.

The pirate turned from the two of them toward the Cullis Gate, only to start wide awake as Sparrow collided with the table he was sitting at, using it to stop himself. The force of the impact toppled more than a few items off onto the floor, much to Garth's obvious displeasure. "Why Sparrow, how good of you to join us."

The gypsy shifted his wild-eyed gaze to Reaver, who wrinkled his nose at the stench of Ale wafting off of him. Now using the table to hold himself up (and failing somewhat) Sparrow greeted him in a far too loud drunken slur. "Wreavar, you aveta help me!"

"Sparrow," Garth cut in before their fellow could work himself into the hysterics he would eventually reach. "I think you need to go to sleep. Clearly you've had too much to drink-"

"No! Garsth, you gotta-gotta lishten to me-"

"Bloody hell Sparrow, if I'd known you were going to do a pub tour, I would have joined you."

"Hammer, you aren't helping."

"Right. Look you, go to bed. Theresa see's you drunk off yer scrawny arse again we'll never hear the end of it."

The gypsy's wavering gaze shifted back to Reaver, the only person who had yet to dismiss him with demands of bed and sleeping. "Reavur...She'sh after me."

"'She' Hm? Well now, I don't see any problem with that-unless of course, women are not your particular…forte-"

"Reaver!"

"Nooo nonononono! She'sh goingk ta plashter my facse into the-the thingk! I don' wanto ge' murdered!"

"Sparrow, no one is going to murder you-"

"Sshe will! You 'avn't met 'er! I thought tha, tha I could 'andle 'er but theresh no way-"

Behind him, the Cullis Gate activated, and Sparrow panicked. Using the table as leverage, he somehow managed to throw himself into Reaver's lap without toppling either of them over. "_Hide me!"_

Rather startled at the sudden turn of events (not that he minded in the slightest, mind) Reaver stared down at the mess of hair whose owner was doing his best to bury his face in the pirate's stomach. He wasn't sure how this at all constituted 'hiding', but he was more than happy to go along with it.

"There you are!"

"What-Garth, how did she-"

The mage shook his head, eyes fixed on the woman that was currently stomping towards them. As far as he knew, no one but they could use the Cullis Gate to enter the Guild Chamber.

Sparrow cringed at the sound of her voice, tightening his hold on Reaver's middle almost to the point of pain. He also happened to be mumbling something, but with his face buried it was impossible to make out.

"I told you, you couldn't hide from me! Going and getting my boys _drunk_ on Ale! Ale summoned from that ruddy _book_ no less! Of all the idiotic stunts those two have pulled over the years, this, _this_ is where I draw the line! I asked you to put an end to their shenanigans, not add to it!"

She looked frightful, and all three of them were instantly reminded of the scoldings of their youths. Reaver, neither inclined to let Sparrow get skinned, nor forcibly removed from his lap, chose that moment to casually point the business end of his pistol at the red-faced old crone. "I dare say you're screeching is giving me a headache. Might I suggest a rather less annoying pitch? Silence, perhaps?"

She scowled at him and made to swat the gun away until he cocked it and let a bullet fly over her shoulder.

"That's better. Now, shall we discuss this like civilized adults? Or better yet why don't you, oh I don't know, _leave._"

"I'm not going anywhere until that bloody _nuisance _is dealt with!" She pointed at Sparrow, who was doing his damndest to both pretend she didn't exist, and not smother himself with his chosen 'hiding' place.

"What has he done _this_ time?" Garth sounded more exasperated than actually angry.

"He got my boys _drunk_!"

Garth frowned. "He got your children drunk?"

"_Yes. _On bloody _ghost ale_ of all things!"

Reaver glanced down at Sparrow, who he could have sworn was snickering. "_Ghost _ale? I didn't even know such a thing existed. Sparrow, love, why was I not invited?" The pirate moved one of his legs to make sure the Hero knew he was being spoken to.

"Not now pirate. How old are your sons?"

"Twenty six."

Reaver snorted, Garth's once concerned face became blank, and Hammer had gone back to snoring. How she managed to sleep at such a time was beyond, well, none of them actually.

"Twenty-_twenty six?_" Reaver laughed. "My dear woman, I think you have far more pressing problems to attend to then whether or not my friend here should be punished for giving your sons _alcohol._"

"You think it's _funny?_ The lot of them burned down three acres of forest, were involved in a drug deal that went _bad_, defaced thir_teen_ statues, and flooded my basement trying to give a _balverine_ a _bath_!"

Reaver laughed harder, ruffling Sparrow's hair in approval, leaving Garth to deal with damage control. After praying to various non-deity deities for strength, the mage stood, took the irate woman by the shoulders, and led her toward the Cullis Gate, trying to talk her down and apologize on behalf of Sparrow.

It was only after they'd disappeared in a flash of blue light that Reaver returned the dragonstomper to its holster. "You do seem to attract trouble on a rather impressive scale, if I do say so myself. Although I'm still rather miffed you didn't see fit to invite _me_ to this 'ghost ale' party. I think it only fair you make an effort to make it up to me….Sparrow?" Reaver shook the gypsy's shoulder. Sparrow's response was a rather impressive snore that could have rivaled Hammer's. He was out cold, and between his unrelenting grip and dead weight, it was quite unlikely he was moving from Reaver's lap without the aid of more than just the pirate he had inadvertently pinned to a chair.

"What a _marvelous_ start to the morning…Oh Hammer! Do be a dear and wake up, I fear my lower body is in danger of going _numb_…."

"Good. Serves you right…" She then promptly began snoring once more. Reaver sighed, contemplating tying a few of Garth's odds and ends into Sparrow's hair and hoping it didn't take the mage long to send the woman on her way.

"You better not be _drooling_ on me…"

* * *

><p>an: ghost ale ala fable III. If you haven't done the max and sam quests in III, or you have but you haven't tried the ghost ale, well...lets just say I want that at my parties.


	64. reaver on reaver

**reaver on reaver  
>Fable II<br>Reaver, Sparrow**

* * *

><p>Reaver paused, raising a quizzical brow at the doorway he'd been about to pass. "That's odd, I don't recall putting a mirror there…" His 'reflection' mimicked the slight cock of his head, but distinctly did not bother with faking speech. Reaver turned, raised his gun, and watched in amusement as he was copied flawlessly.<p>

Ignoring, of course, the gun opposite was clearly fake. Canceling out the possibility that this was one of Sparrow's little jokes. Had the Hero decided to put a mirror in a doorway, the mimicry would, of course, be flawless.

"Well aren't you an _interesting_ one."

The not-Reaver smirked in a creepy way that was most certainly _not_ his.

The pirate stepped forward, the mimic copying him so the two were quite close. He reached out, and his double did the same. This time, Reaver was the one to mimic the creepy smirk of the other.

-break-

"Oi Reaver! Where are you?! I need to talk to you! There's something really weird going…..on." Sparrow stopped in the doorway of the study, blinking furiously to make sure his eyes were indeed being truthful.

"Ah, good evening Sparrow. What is it that's managed to ruffle your feathers this time?"

Sparrow pointed. "I think you already…found…it."

Now, Sparrow had seen a lot of things. And it certainly wasn't the first time he'd walked in to find Reaver lounging about naked, or worse. But it was the first time he'd seen said pirate lounging about naked with himself. Quite literally, in fact, as there were two distinctly identical Reavers smirking up at him from the lounge.

"Ah yes. Dare I ask where you found such a thing? We got to know one another _quite _well, but I'm afraid it never came up."

"Wraithmarsh. Cept when I saw it last it was pretending to be me."

The disturbing look on Reaver's face made Sparrow cringe. "Really? How interesting…..I suppose I should thank you."

"Thank me?"

"Why yes! I must say, this is by far the most marvelous birthday present I've ever gotten."

"It's your birthday."

"Yes. Well, not _technically_, but I like to think of _every _day as my birthday."

"You know you can't keep it, right?"

"Come now, you should know me better than _that_. Besides, is it not usually you begging to keep some dangerous creature as a pet? Surely you see the irony here-"

Sparrow face palmed. "Reaver, you can't keep a doppelganger in the basement just so you can have sex with yourself."

"Why ever would I keep it in the _basement_?"

* * *

><p>an: inspired by the title of Reaver's biography, and the tomb raider game I haven't actually played (I just know it has a doppelganger in it.)


	65. after party

**after party  
>Fable III<br>Reaver, Barry Hatch**

* * *

><p>Reaver unceremoniously shoved the drunken idiot in his way off of the table, grabbed the cleanest looking glass he could find, and poured himself a drink. Thankfully, he'd had half a bottle of red wine in his chambers, what with the way his 'guests' had gone through his liquor supply. His little soirée' hadn't gone quite as he'd expected, but that was to be expected when anyone in close association to Sparrow showed up. It just so happened that this time it was his lovely little daughter, barely an adult and already making trouble, just like her dear father.<p>

At least the little Lark knew how to put on a show.

He took in the silence of his manor, empty save for himself and the few drunks still breathing. Which reminded him…a deft movement, a deafening roar, and the 'magic trick' was over, the drunken buffoon at his feet transformed into a corpse. He'd have to take care of the rest, much to his displeasure (so tedious, so _boring_) but first, he had a drink to finish. And then the rest of the bottle to top off. No use wasting good wine, after all. And as he planned to vacate his premises for awhile, if he did not drink it now it would surely be forgotten, a forlorn bottle left to collect dust in the dark.

A time later the last of the bottle was residing in his glass, escorting him about his premises and looking on in silence as the dragonstomper took care of stragglers. Fortunately, Sparrow's spawn had taken care of his miniature-crucible participants, as well as his pesky balverine in disguise debt collectors.

It was a pity it hadn't been Sparrow once more looking up at him amidst a sea of blood and gore, nitpicking at the flaws of the trial and questioning the life choices of the servants who would later find themselves dealing with the mess. Instead he got a little girl playing grown-up, raised in high society than thrust into the wild in the hope that she would become even as marginally a great Hero as her father.

"Mastah Weavah?" A perplexed Barry came to stand at his side, one hand rubbing his shoulder, the other buried in ginger locks, more than likely trying to abate a massive headache.

"Ah Barry, how good of you to finally join me."

His servant flinched, not for a second buying the cheery tone. "Sowwy Mastah Weavah."

"Let me see." He motioned boredly to the red-head's shoulder with the pistol still in hand. Barry complied, pulling away the bloodied fabric to reveal the freshly healed bite mark. It would scar, of course, the tooth marks forever a reminder of what he was beneath that so very human visage.

Reaver was, admittedly, surprised his servant had survived at all, let alone refrained from turning into a momentarily furry problem.

"Well well, I've never had a _balverine_ as a servant before." The look of horror on Barry's face was priceless.

"Balvawine?"

He didn't bother confirming the question, the man knowing full well what a bite from one of the beastie's entailed. "I suppose it shouldn't be a problem, so long as you refrain from shedding all over my things. And I should hope it goes without saying that marking one's territory is out of the question. Now Barry, be a dear and fetch the carriage. And on your way send the servants to clean up this _mess_. I don't want to come back to the stench of rotting drunks; it would be most _unseemly_."

Barry, ever the reliable servant he was, bowed respectfully before departing to do as he was told. Reaver watched him depart thoughtfully; a little voice in the back of his head commenting on how jealous Sparrow would be to find out the industrialist had gotten a legitimate pet balverine before he did.

And then he wondered how his spawn would react, most specifically the little minx of a daughter who'd witnessed the mauling and (supposed) death of a very much alive Barry Hatch. He felt a rather naughty grin spread across his face, alcohol fueled schemes forming in his mind.

"I wonder how much Albion's beloved princess knows about balverines…"


	66. beneath a harvest moon

**beneath a harvest moon  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Dog**

* * *

><p>"Take that! And that! Haha! Bow before me, knave! You are no match against the almighty King of the Gypsies!"<p>

Fluffnugget sighed, shaking some of the errant wheat from his head. He may not have been very up to speed on all things human, but the dog was pretty sure the other humans wouldn't be happy when they saw what his master was doing to their crops.

Sparrow sheathed his sword with a grin, surveying the mess of hacked apart stalks that surrounded him. "You are bested, scratchy beast. Take my kindness to heart, for I shall not set you aflame this night."

The mutt woofed to get his masters attention. While the gypsy had been fighting with produce, fluffnugget had noticed something that required the human's attention.

"What be it, my noblest of beasts?"

Fluffnugget made a show of sniffing the air, his master mimicking him.

"Is that…." He glanced suspiciously at his hands, ascertaining that no, he hadn't set anything on fire even though he could clearly smell something burning. He bent down so he was face to face with the mutt. "Ok boy, let's go see who's tryin ta set me up! If I'm gonna get yammered at bout settin things afire, I at least want to actually do the settin of fires. Not get blamed for it cause I'm the 'obvious culprit'."

Fluffnugget agreed wholeheartedly with this, taking off at a steady pace toward the source of the smell. Sparrow followed, thankful for the giant orange moon overhead that was keeping him from tripping and falling on his face. The mutt led his master to one of the more far flung fields in the village, the light of a fire coming into view the closer they got.

Both the gypsy and his furry companion dropped to a crouch, creeping forward. They could hear the sound of laughter, and as the last time he'd crashed a party he wasn't invited to resulted in him being covered in pink liquor and bubbles, he felt caution to be in order. "Bloody wankers, not invitin us…"

They came to a halt at the edge of the standing wheat, using it to conceal themselves. Through the stalks, Sparrow could see the large bonfire situated in the center of a cleared area of the crops, and around it cloaked figures dancing and laughing merrily. Had it not been for fluffnugget's teeth catching his sleeve firmly, the gypsy would have leapt out and joined them.

The group of women and man (there was only one distinctive male voice amongst the cackling and gibberish spouting) passed between them bedazzled wine bottles and various weeds; one of them tossed something into the fire to make it spark green and smell of strawberries.

"The time is near, my sisters – and frank-! Soon the moon will be at the optimal position to Saturn, and we can commence with this most long-running of spells!" The woman speaking gestured grandly at the moon, her comrades cackling in unison. The crow perched on 'Frank's shoulder chimed in ominously.

Sparrow shifted, his leg falling asleep. Fluffnugget growled, but the gypsy ignored it, attempting to shift into a more comfortable position.

"Well well well! What have we here? A little lost lamb come snooping into the wolf's den?"

Sparrow swore indignantly as he was hoisted to his feet.

"Ah, if it isn't the Sparrow of Bowerstone!"

He snorted. "Yep. Seems I've flown into a magpie nest…" Up close he realized they were all decked out in an obscene amount of dangley, shiny things.

The head honcho in front of him chuckled, motioning her minions to drag him after her. He was shoved into the clearing wrinkling his nose at the horrific scent the fire was now giving off, reminding him strongly of the 'DO NOT TOUCH –this means you Sparrow-' beakers in Garth's tower.

"You have happened upon us at a unique time, Hero. Forgive me, but our work is too important for your interference." She snapped, and he was shoved toward a cage he hadn't noticed earlier. In it, a little boy covered in blood and staring up at him with wide, haunted eyes.

It reminded him of something, but what, he couldn't remember.

The cage was opened, the boy removed, and the gypsy and his pet crammed into the too small space. "Ohf, fluffnugget, watch the paws if yeh want to be an uncle." The dog huffed, shoving his master to the side so he didn't have to use the human as furniture. Sparrow made for a horrible chair more often than not, his inability to sit still most days a hindrance in that aspect.

Sparrow grabbed the bars and stuck his face against them. The mutt grabbed a mouthful of the Hero's coat and tugged warningly; attempting to remind his master of the last time he'd tried to fit his head through cage bars. The gypsy waved him off, patting him absently on the head when he let up and put his own shaggy face to the bars, huffing in annoyance.

The two watched as the boy was hoisted up to sit on a rickety table covered in detritus, Frank and his crow pulling something shiny from a rucksack beneath it. The light caught it just so that Sparrow realized what it was.

"Ug, you're not going to _eat _him are you? That's bloody disgusting! Not to mention poorly thought out. 'E's a scrawny little bugger, and there's six of you. _Six_. How d'you expect to feed the lot of you with one little stick puppet like 'im?"

"I bade you silent, mortal! Now still your tongue and watch as we transcend the confines of this existence!"

Both master and mutt were confused, but for different reasons. Fluffnugget was worried about the transcendence bit (as any rational creature would be) while Sparrow was still puzzling over the first bit. "You did not! You just shoved me in this bleedin cage! Bade my left nu-"

"I said _still your tongue_. Lest I still if for you." A knife was waved threateningly in his direction.

The gypsy scowled, quiet ready and willing to contest this, but a well timed bark from fluffnugget cut him off. "What? I can't call the bleedin cross-dresser and his concubines on their bluff?"

Fluffnugget huffed a 'not if you want to get out of this with all your limbs, idiot' sigh. Sparrow grumbled moodily under his breath, but refrained from starting a fight. The witches –at least Sparrow assumed that's what they were- had gone back to ignoring him, starting in on their carving of small children (well, child.)

Sparrow wrinkled his nose, sighed, then propped his chin on his fist, leaning against his dog to get a better view. The lot of them were chanting, cackling, tossing about weeds and wine and Avo knew what else, and just being a right annoyance in general.

The gypsy (who had zoned out and was currently debating on what to demand for dinner when he returned to the Guild) was alerted by fluffnugget's rumbling growl vibrating his shoulder that something not-so-good was probably happening in the real world. "What is it boy?" he whispered to the mutt at his side. The canine nodded his snout toward the table, his master following his gaze.

The gaggle of loonies were waving about a munched on arm, backs to the table and the boy who was looking decidedly more hairy than he had last Sparrow had looked. Fluffnugget scooted to the far side of the cage, his master copying him as subtly as possible. They'd recognize those hairy, clawed feet anywhere.

First one leg then the other twitched, and as the two now un-characteristically silent companions watched, what was once the boy pulled himself into a sitting position, revealing bright yellow eyes and a mouth overflowing with dripping fangs. The balverine looked down at its shoulder and the obvious lack of arm, lips pulling back further over the gruesome Cheshire grin.

The creature's impressive growl drew the attention of the closest witch, the woman doing a double take just in time to have her face forcibly removed. This drew the others' attentions, screams and cursing taking the place of gleeful giggling and chanting. The pint-sized balverine lurched from the table, attacking anyone within its reach. Sparrow winced as Frank was tossed into the (now mint smelling) fire, fluffnugget burying his head beneath his paws.

The cracking of bones and pained howling drew the gypsy's gaze to the prone figures, watching wide eyed as fur ripped through clothing, limbs bent and lengthened-Sparrow had never actually seen the transformation of human to balverine, but he decided then and there it was something he'd like to avoid in the future.

The newly made witch balverines joined the child balverine, howling to one another as they took to chasing the stragglers that had managed to escape the ring of fire light. Their noises faded into the night, until there was nothing but the crackling of flames to keep the Hero and his dog company.

Sparrow kicked moodily at the cage door as best he could in the confined space. "Wankers, coulda least left me the key before they got themselves eaten." He kicked at it again, making no more progress than before. Avo-knew when someone would find them out there, so far out of Oakfield proper, and living in a cage for a week or more wasn't high on the gypsy's to-do list.

Wheat crushed beneath heavy footsteps drew their attention. The new comer stepped into the firelight, revealing a short, shaggy brown balverine with one arm. Yellow eyes observed them, head cocking slightly as it padded toward the cage. Sparrow clamped a hand around fluffnugget's snout to keep the mutt from making a sound, patting him with the other hand. The gypsy offered the creature a weak smile, mentally calculating the chances of the cage keeping the two of them from a brutal mauling.

The balverine stopped before them, lifting a clawed hand and dropping something within reach of the bars. It glittered in the dancing light, blood and bronze. Without waiting for a response, the balverine left as silently as it had come, Sparrow and fluffnugget watching its retreat in speechless confusion. When they were again alone, the Hero leant forward and snatched the 'gift' from the ground.

"Bloody hell." He showed the key to his furry compatriot before shoving his arm back through the bars to unlock the door. It clicked open, Sparrow just managing to keep himself from falling forward as the door swung open beneath his weight. Fluffnugget zipped past him, rolling about on the ground in his happiness to be free. "Aw, fluffnugget, now Hammer's gonna demand I bathe you again, you filthy sod."

Fluffnugget rolled his eyes, uncaring of the blood and whatever else now clung to his fur, just glad they both were unmauled and uncaged.

Sparrow toed at the remaining dead bodies-the ones that hadn't been bitten. "Think these ones'r safe?"

The dog went to each and sniffed, making sure they wouldn't have any surprises. Frank was obviously no threat, being he was now a crispy critter.

"Help..me…"

He leant over the table, eyeing warily the bloody witch reaching up toward him from the ground. "Depends. Did he bite you?"

"N-no. Just….just threw me."

"Hm. Y'know, I should leave ya here, case he wants a snack later. I mean, you did stick me in a bleedin cage…" Fluffnugget nudged him with his nose, and Sparrow sighed. "_Fine_. Jeeze. I'll help the crazy witch lady, _mum_." Sparrow unceremoniously flipped the table over to the side, and yanked the woman to her feet. "Bloody hell, you look awful."

What could be seen of her face had gone rather green, her eyes bloodshot, and her nose had begun to bleed. Even without fluffnugget's warning growl Sparrow would have realized something was decidedly not right. He looked at her warily. "I thought you said you didn't get bitten?!"

She shook her head. "I didn't-"

Sparrow ducked away as she vomited all over herself. "But your turnin inta a bleedin balverine!"

She fixed her now yellowed eyes on him, face half torn and stretched. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, splitting and tearing as her jaw shifted and her teeth were pushed from her mouth by the fangs sprouting beneath them.

And then Sparrow shot her between the eyes, stopping the transformation and dropping her into a gangly heap in the bloodied wheat. "Think we should tell Theresa?" He glanced down at the mutt, who shook his head. "I agree. Then she'll make me hunt em down or some-" He stopped, suddenly recalling the thing that had been dancing about in the back of his head.

"Hammer!" He knocked a fist against the pocket he knew the guild seal was in. "Guess what!"

"Un, what? Sparrow, it's the middle of the night, this better be important-"

"It is!" He was quite unbothered by the fact that he'd clearly awoken her (again.) "Remember that story you told me about the boy eaten by witches?!"

"Witc-no, Sparrow, it was a story about a boy captured by slavers after he was bitten by a balverine-"

"Yeayeayea, _regardless_, I know the answer!"

"The answer to _what_, you insomniatic little ponce?"

"Whether or not eating balverines makes you one."

"How could you possibly know the answer to-Sparrow! You haven't been eating a balverine, have you?!"

"What? No! The witches did! I watched it from the cage! Well, those ones got bit…but the one I found under the table after the one-armed wonder balverine let me out of that cage didn't! Get bit that is. But she was turning anyway! And I think it's because she ate that kids arm!"

Silence, then: "Sparrow, go to bed and stop taking 'candy' from Reaver. Seriously, first the sea monster thing, now this…I'm going to throw that pirate into the cheese cave…"

Sparrow frowned. "But Hammer, I didn't-"

"Go. To. _Bed_."

He huffed indignantly, then glanced down at fluffnugget. "Guess we won't tell her bout the horde of witch balverines that just ran off toward Oakfield…."

"_What_?"

* * *

><p>an: ask and ye shall receive! (witches at the request of Kaori kuni. It ended up having balverines too, but the two seem to be linked in Fableverse for me)  
>Cheers!<p> 


	67. they live

**they live  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>Sparrow wiped the blood from his face, sighing. He'd been wandering about this particular cave for ages, killing monsters and bandits and some aggravating rats that would <em>not <em>leave him alone. All because some over enthusiastic cobbler demanded he do so, in exchange for a 'life altering' reward.

"Hello? Who's there?!"

Sparrow rounded the last bend, eyes sweeping over the very much lived-in space. A small fire, over which a kettle sat, sat amidst a scattering of books, beakers, and other odds and ends. For a second, he thought he'd stumbled upon Garth.

That is until something thin and solid connected with the back of his head.

"Ow! Wanking trollop monkeys…" He clutched his head in an attempt to make the bright colors and starburst go back into his skull.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Hands grabbed at him, spinning him around to molest his face. "Wha-geroff!" The hands retreated and Sparrow cracked open an eye to glare at his assailant. He was greeted with the site of an old man, blind by the looks of it, leaning on the staff that was more than likely the culprit behind the lump forming on his head.

"Forgive me; I had to make sure you weren't one of _them_."

Sparrow scowled. "One of _who?_ The bleedin concussed? Cause I'm pretty sure I'm one of em now."

The strange man shimmied past him, going to dig through a pile of science-y equipment. "Here, take these." He held out a pair of odd-looking, shaded bifocals.

"Why? They gonna magic away me headache?"

"They will open your eyes."

He snorted. "I could do that without twat-goggles if _somebody _hadn't wacked me upside the bloomin 'ead."

The glasses were shoved into his hands. "They walk amongst us, and we are blind to them. These will show you, these will awaken you!"

The gypsy hung them on his belt with a grumble, deciding playing along would make the blind man stop yammering. It was making his head throb. "Yea yea, whatever. Why are you down here anyway? You're not treasure…"

"I am hiding. If they find me, all is lost."

"Right. Well, good luck with that." He turned about and promptly made his way toward the exit. He'd had quite enough adventuring for one day, and made a mental oath to never go into caves on the word of some random clingy nutter again. "Should have learned that lesson with Theresa…"

"Be vigilant friend! If they realize you see, they will come for you!"

-break-

"Oh gods!" Sparrow slapped a hand over his eyes at the sudden sunlight stabbing his eyeballs. His other hand fumbled for the glasses at his side, and shoved them on his face. A soothing darkness fell over his eyes, filtering not just the sunlight, but all the colors from the world.

"Well that's weird. Bloody defective things." However, they made it possible for him to continue on with his journey without having to walk with his hands over his eyes (something that could be quite deadly, as he'd learned,) so he kept the ridiculous things on.

"Hello friend, on your way to Westcliff? I've got room in me carriage if you've got 25 gold."

Sparrow glanced over at the magically apparated carriage and its driver, then did a double take. The carriage was rotting and warped, glass scorched and wheels embedded with haphazard spikes. The horses malnourished and riddled with bald patches, their eyes milky and their lips missing. And the driver….

He lowered the glasses, blinking in the light. Before him was an average everyday carriage, horses strong and their chestnut coats sleek and shiny. A friendly looking man smiled down at him, clearly assuming him drunk or slow. Slowly, he pushed the glasses up his nose, until he was half looking through them. Through the lenses he saw the decay, in the sunlight he saw nothing out of the ordinary. It made his head swim.

He pushed them back on fully as the sunlight began making his eyes water. The driver continued to smile down at him, the expression incredibly disconcerting now that the right half of his face was torn away, ragged skin hanging loose and ragged around the all too visible teeth, twisted, broken, and sharp. Sunken eyes yellowed and obscured with cataracts glanced him over.

"Well? Ain't got all day mister." He scratched at his head, hair falling from his scalp in clumps at the attention of the ragged nails, elongated and yellow and covered in dried blood and dirt.

Sparrow shook his head slowly, and made an effort to sound as drunk as possible as he replied in the negative.

Shrugging, the driver turned back to his horses, cracking the weathered reigns and whistling. Sparrow watched until the carriage had disappeared around the bend, trying to make sense of what the hell was wrong with him around the hammering in his brain. Although he was sure it was all in his head, he ducked into the tree line just to be safe (though he told himself firmly it was to stay out of sun as much as possible) and made his way to Westcliff.

-break-

His feet hit the pier before the plank had been fully lowered, the men hollering obscenities at his back. Sparrow threw them an apologetic grin, trying not to let it show that he was freaked the fuck out. He'd picked the only boat that didn't look as though it'd spent three years at the bottom of the sea, but had soon found that more than a handful of the men looked as though they had. He turned away to hide the shudder, their bloated, fish-pecked images burned just as firmly in his skull as all the other horrifying things he'd seen that day.

A woman who looked as though she'd fallen into a fire, and her two children: one with a skeletal frame and half the flesh on his head missing, the other with a blown out eye and a gaping wound in the back of his head.

The blacksmith with the jutting jaws of a balverine, body bound with muscles and incredibly disproportioned, and his assistant that was missing both his eyes, lower jaw gone, gut sliced open just enough for his innards to dangle in the breeze.

The jewelry stand woman who looked as though her face had been skinned and the flesh beneath cured in brine.

The ten foot tall, stick thin man with skin blacker than night and no eyelids, arms and legs thrice the length of his torso, carrying a bloody sack over his shoulder.

The list went on, and Sparrow was now convinced the jar to his head had either made his mind tell him to get bent, or he was still lying unconscious in the cave. He slid past the pie vendor stationed at the bottom of the stairs, throwing a weak smile when he turned to him. The man had no face, his frame lean beneath the far-too-fancy-for-Bloodstone attire.

The gypsy took the stairs two at a time, and kept his gaze lowered. The combination of the concussion and the adrenaline coursing through him in light of his terror was making him dizzy and more than likely on the verge of a panic attack.

He made it to Reaver's manor without running into anyone, relief washing over him as he saw the doorman looked as he always did. "'Ello Sparrah. Reavah's in back." A grateful nod and he quite literally ran into the manor, slamming the den door behind him.

"Ah, Sparrow! I was wondering when you'd return. Did you find this 'life-altering' treasure of yours?"

Sparrow didn't move from where he stood, facing the door and resting his head against the cool wood. "Bloody hell I'll say. I think I'm going mental, I keep seeing all this bleedin shite-dead people and monsters and…" He took the glasses off, rubbing his eyes against the needles and the sudden change in perception. "It's either these things." He waved the glasses about in the pirate's assumed direction. "Or that blind old wanker hit me harder than I thought." He made to turn, winced at the light from the lamps, (shoving the glasses back on without thinking about it) then finally moved away from the door.

And stopped.

Reaver quirked a brow in amusement. "You got hit by a _blind_ man? Your reflexes really are those of a dead cat." When Sparrow didn't come back with some quip or other, the pirate frowned. "Are you quite all right? I know I'm astounding, but I feel we're past the point of stunned _staring_."

Sparrow made a choked noise, unconsciously backing up until his ass hit the door. "You-you're" He couldn't make the proper words come out. The pirate was as pale as new-fallen snow, features sharp and eyes vibrant and swirling with shadows. And if Sparrow believed in Hammer's 'demons', he would have thought Reaver one of them by virtue of the sheer unnaturalness of his appearance.

"I'm _what_? Do speak up, you know how I feel about such games love."

The gypsy yanked the glasses off, light assaulting him, bringing with it color and normalcy. Reaver looked as he always did, giving him that same look he always did when presented with conspiracy theories and incoherent fits of babbling. He held out the thrice-blasted things to Reaver, his hand shaking. "Put 'em on….look-look in the mirror."

Reaver sighed. "And why would I want to do such a thing? Remember what happened when last I indulged your maddened fancies?"

"Please? Just do it, and if-if you don't see anything, then I'll leave it be and go pass out in the bathtub again." Or hide in the closest. At this point he was leaning more toward the confined dark space of the closet.

"_Fine_." Reaver took the glasses and perched them on his face, frowning whence they covered his eyes. "No wonder you're acting as though inanimate objects are trying to murder you (again.) Why anyone would create monotone glasses-"

"Do I, uh, look…odd?"

"Aside from that face you're making and the fact you look as though you're about to vomit all over my _expensive_ rugs?"

Sparrow rubbed at his face, using the door for support. "Look in the mirror."

Although his eyes were obscured, the gypsy could tell Reaver rolled them. "Oh why not. Let us see how marvelous I look in shades of…grey." The pirate was standing before the mirror, still as stone and face suddenly blank. "Sparrow, where did you get these?" He lifted a hand to poke at his face, dropping the glasses to half mast and moving his head about.

"Blind man in a cave."

"Of _course_." He pulled the glasses slowly from his face, dropped them unceremoniously to the floor, and lifted his foot to crush them.

Sparrow tackled him with a holler, the two crashing into (and subsequently breaking) one of the side tables. "What are you doing?!"

Reaver twisted angrily in Sparrow's grasp, trying and failing to shove the gypsy off him. "I could ask you the bloody same!" A bit of grappling and Sparrow finally released him, half falling over as he scooped up the fallen bifocals.

"If you break them-"

"Then we never have to be witness to such ludicrous _lies_." The pirate rubbed at the sore spot on his back where the table had gotten him the worst. "I mean really, _look_ at yourself! You're shaking like a virgin on her wedding night, and you're the same color Hammer turns after a hard night of drinking. What good could _possibly_ come from _not _destroying those wretched _things_?"

"But then how will we know-"

"You seem to have been doing fine up until this point, yes? And has _any _of whatever it is you've been seeing affected you in _any way_ before you became aware it existed?"

"Well…no, not tha' I know of."

"My point, love, is made. Be rid of those nasty things-"Reaver shuddered in a very un-Reaver way, clearly more disturbed by what he'd seen then he'd let on. "And let us forget it ever happened. I fear what would occur should the blind old hag learn of them."

Sparrow glanced at the glasses in hand, eyes widening. "D'you think…Theresa?"

"Oh my, yes. If _I _look like _that_, then she must be absolutely _terrifying."_

The two stood in silence as Sparrow mentally argued with himself over what to do, torn. Finally, and only because the thought of Theresa sending them on a new and incredibly terrifying quest made him want to hide in a cave with the blind man, Sparrow held the glasses out to Reaver, who promptly took them and threw them in the fireplace. They stood together and watched them burn, popping and squealing as metal and chemicals reacted to the heat.

"Drink?"

"God's yes."

* * *

><p>an: for those of you who've never seen John Carpenter's They Live, then this may be a bit of a wtf. It's a brilliant movie (much like others he's know for, like 'The Thing', 'Escape from New York', oh and a little thing called 'Halloween' you may have heard of) and is *cough* found in its entirety on youtube *cough*

Aliens instead of monsters and dead things, and a far more Rambo approach to the situation (shoot it first, ask questions later) and who can forget to mention the classic 80's mullet? It may start slow, but it ends with explosions.

Forgive the digression, I'm in full monster-movie-mode, and feel the need to share this love with everyone. Enjoy folks!

deadpan_riot


	68. empty graves

**empty graves  
>between II &amp; III<br>Sparrow, Lucien**

* * *

><p>Sparrow shivered, scowling up through the drizzle at the bloated sky. Why the weather liked to set the mood for every place he visited was beyond the Hero, though he often felt Theresa was somehow involved.<p>

And of course this being a graveyard, he was gifted with grey clouds and a biting wind that was trying to drive the wet through his clothing.

It didn't take much searching to find the grave he was after, what with it being rather large and imposing. Lucien may have been a right bastard, but he'd been a rich one, and custom dictated he be buried with his family. Not that they'd had a body to bury, what with it lying somewhere in the bowels of the Spire, but people liked closure. They'd stuck a coffin bearing nothing but air and bad feelings in the ground, covering years of anger and sorrow in six feet of dirt. Sparrow'd thought it a load of bollocks, but like most things he didn't get a say in the matter.

Five years ago that day he'd put a bullet in the tyrant's heart and watched him fall into the darkness, ending his twenty-odd year quest for vengeance. Five years he'd spent in Samarkand cavorting with Reaver and bothering Garth. That they should happen to have arrived back in Albion in time for said anniversary was no coincidence of course. Back in Bowerstone a party awaited him: a reunion of the four Heroes to celebrate the end of their quest and the freedom they'd gained from 'fate' and the incessant nagging of one blind seer.

But Sparrow still had the nagging feeling of unfinished business, so instead of waiting with Reaver for Garth and Hammer to arrive he'd 'borrowed' a horse and made his way here. And standing there, in the shite weather staring at the headstones of Lucien and his family, he wasn't sure if celebrating would make him feel at all better.

"Depressing, is it not?"

The gypsy stiffened, fingers sliding toward his pistol. He'd know that silky voice anywhere, unable to forget it even after five years of supposed closure.

"Tell me, Hero, what did they bury if anything at all?" The voice had moved to his side, haunting now with nothing lacing it but sorrow.

Sparrow looked over, half expecting to see nothing, to have to chalk it up to nerves and his over active imagination, and to never mention it to anyone ever lest they lock him in a room. Instead, he was met with a very solid, very real, very _dead_ man.

"An empty coffin."

Lucien gave him a peculiar smile, the supposedly dead tyrant looking just as he had in the Spire, minus the flashy clothing and blood. "Not your idea, surely?"

He shook his head, mind strangely silent, any and all crazy assumptions choosing to wait to bombard him when he was less likely to have his skin peeled off. "No, think it was a bunch of people in Fairfax. And Hammer."

"Ah yes, the ever proper nobles and the righteous monk."

Sparrow watched him, wary and insanely curious, as the former mad man tyrant looked on at the ornate etchings that declared the life and death of himself and his loved ones. The fervor that had consumed him was gone, leaving behind an old man that had lost everything. It was incredibly unnerving to the gypsy; the apparition so unlike his mental image of the man that he knew there was no way he'd lost it and was talking to air.

"You're dead."

"Am I?"

Sparrow pointed to the headstone, and Lucien scoffed. "Bullet to the heart, and a dive into the bowels of the Spire."

A pained expression pinched the not-so-dead man's face. "Am I to assume that charming gypsy woman of yours confirmed my demise?"

He opened his mouth to respond in the positive, only to shut it again when he realized that she had not, in fact, done so.

Lucien chuckled. "I see. An interesting woman. Blind, yet somehow able to see more clearly than either of us. It is unsurprising to me that she should lie so easily, when it is taken into consideration that her very existence is a false image."

Before his mind could properly supply him with all the reasons his current action was incredibly stupid, Sparrow reached over and poked Lucien in the shoulder. His finger was met with the solidity of flesh and blood, the act met with a quizzical look. "You're real."

"In so far that I am aware, yes."

"Not a ghost?"

"Hardly."

"So…." Sparrow bit his lip, suddenly unable to stand still. "I've been wondering…"

Lucien motioned for him to continue, the absurdity of the situation, the surreal feeling that came with his twice-attempted murderer being civil with him spurring the words to spill from his mouth. "Are you a vampire then?"

Perfectly manicured brows lifted slightly, the only sign what he'd said had registered. Lucien stared at him, a thoughtful look entering his eyes and a wistful smile appearing on his lips. "It was you then, who started the rumors in the Spire? Admittedly I find myself rather unsurprised, looking back."

Sparrow refrained for once from making an asinine comment (Hammer would have been both proud, and shocked into a state of silence most unnatural of her,) waiting for Lucien to properly answer his most burning query.

And then he smiled in a way most unfitting of a nobleman, a lopsided retraction of lips over teeth that answered Sparrow's age-old question far better than words could have. At the Hero's sharp intake of breath his face smoothed back into gentlemanly disinterest. "Have I satisfactorily answered your question?"

Sparrow nodded, his mind trying to pick itself up and process the information. It took all of a minute, the two of them standing in silence, Lucien once again contemplating the headstones and Sparrow staring at him for it all to click into place. "I was right…I bloody _knew _it!"

"Yes. You are far more perceptive than your colleagues give you credit for, I think."

Sparrow whistled low, wondering suddenly what else he'd been right about all along. The grass? The Hobbes? The thing with the chickens?

"I must confess, I was not expecting things to play out as they did. An unassuming urchin becoming my downfall? Clearly my grandiose planning was far narrower than I believed it to be."

"You shot me. And then threw me outta a window. After you shot my sister, I might add."

"I did not throw you out of a window."

"Then how the bleedin' hell did I wind up twenty stories down? I distinctly remember sparkly glass, and rooftops hittin me in the face."

"You are familiar with pistols are you not? Surely you understand the mechanics of a bullet's inertia, and the force that propels it from the barrel." At Sparrow's blank look Lucien sighed. "The force of the bullet propelled you backwards, through the window you happened to be standing before. Believe me when I say had I thought of that exact thing occurring, I would have taken measures to prevent it."

"What, you can shoot kids but ye can't stand to see em fall outta windows?"

"Hardly. Your sudden vacation of my study created quite the mess, a mess I undoubtedly handled poorly. Had I not decided to leave you to the city's vermin our paths may have been decidedly different."

At that Sparrow couldn't help but snort in derision. "Doubtful. Theresa gets what Theresa wants."

A dark look crossed Lucien's face. "So it seems. She still resides in the Spire I assume. Roosting in its heart and gloating like the fox in the chicken coop."

"Probably. Gave me the right creeps when she sent us off, all 'the Spire is mine', and 'begone'. No thank you's no I'll miss you Sparrow….Woman peeled me offa the cobblestone, took me in an looked after me for ten years afore she sent me off on my' grand quest'. I think she ain't right in the head. Least I have an excuse, what with the getting hit in the head by roofs and streets and the like."

Lucien made a noise of agreement. "Are you aware how I came to acquire the knowledge regarding the Spire?"

The Hero shrugged. "Rich people have books, books have knowledge in em?"

"If that knowledge had been so readily available, do you not think someone far ahead of me would have attempted to recreate it?"

"Touché. How then?" He had a sneaking suspicion, but years of getting smacked for rattling such things off at will had taught him when and around whom to hold his tongue.

"I was approached by a blind woman in gypsy clothing, claiming to be a seer with the answer to all my problems."

Sparrow was instantly reminded of the fateful day when a mysterious woman in gypsy clothes had convinced Rose to believe in magic, wishes, and fairytale endings. "She's not very nice, is she?" Lucien didn't respond, though it was clear the feeling was mutual. They stood in an oddly companionable silence, both staring at the markers of the dead and remembering days long past. "So what're you gonna do?"

"For now, I imagine I'll do exactly as I have been. Staying out of sight and watching the world move on."

And despite all the bullshit between them, the wrongs done and the things said and unsaid, Sparrow felt distinctly sad for the once feared tyrant. "You could always go to Samarkand, or Aurora-though Aurora might not be vampire friendly. Lots of sun."

"Perhaps." Lucien turned his gaze to the overcast sky, Sparrow wondering absently if he'd also been right in his assumption about vampires and their ability to chase the sun away.

If so he would forever be wary of cloudy days.

"For whatever it is worth, I am sorry for all the wrongs I have dealt you, Sparrow."

Said gypsy turned his gaze from the sky he'd been looking accusingly at, startled by the words he'd never even thought to want to hear. His wide gaze was met with thin air, the space Lucien had occupied beside him suddenly vacant. A half-hearted attempt to locate the vampire came up with nothing, the Hero left alone with the remnants of the dead.

"Well damn. Now how am I supposed to prove I'm not a complete nutter? Bloody wanking vampire, going and disappearing before a guy can knick proper proof of his existence…" And then he noticed it, sitting innocuously atop the gravestone bearing Lucien's name. A pocket watch, all ornate gold and smooth ivory bearing the crest of Lucien's ancestors. The glass within was cracked, presumably from the fall in the Spire, but the soft ticking marking the march of time was still present. Sparrow again swept his gaze across the graveyard, this time with a smirk on his face.

"Lucien you bastard, you read my mind. _They_ may not believe me, but at least now I know I can believe me."

Now all he needed was proof of every other crazy theory he'd ever had ever and he'd be set. The Hero smelt a quest in his future.


	69. the soulslicer

**the soulslicer  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Gorgoron, Hammer**

* * *

><p>"ello there little girl. Are you here with your mummy?"<p>

The 'little girl' Sparrow had plopped down in front of gave him a rather distasteful scowl. "Do not be fooled by my appearance, mortal. I can take whatever shape pleases me."

Sparrow blinked, wondering if his ears had decided it was high time they played a practical joke on him. After all, little girls didn't usually sound like old demonic men, did they? Unless of course his ears had always been playing practical jokes…it was hard to say. He usually just ignored kids, with their whining and their stalking.

"Soooo….you aren't here with yer mum then?"

The little girl sighed. "No, I am not. My mother is still off torturing mortals and teaching chickens a working understanding of the Human Language."

"Oh. Right. So what are you doing here then?"

"I am here to participate in this 'Crucible' you're kind seem so fond of."

"But you're a kid."

The being scowled. "I have already told you, I take whatever appearance pleases me. I am not a 'kid', I am a being of great power with the ability to change my form at will."

"So you chose a little girl? Why?"

"To see the looks of the hapless beings watching me, an assumed child, slaughter my way through this supposed challenge of near impossible proportions."

Sparrow nodded enthusiastically. "Sounds brilliant! I'm Sparrow." He stuck out his hand, the not-little-girl eyed him warily.

"I am Gorgoron the Soulslicer, scourge of all that is pure and holy." Gorgoron gave Sparrow an odd look. "You are not afraid?"

The gypsy snorted. "Nah. No offense, but you don't really inspire terror, dressed up like that. 'Sides, after you live with a creepy blind loon who watches you while you sleep, nothin can bother ya."

"Indeed. Perhaps you will be spared when the cleansing slaughter of this world commences."

"S'all you can ask for, yea?"

"You, new guy! Yer up, get yer arse in there!"

Sparrow bounced to his feet. "Well, gotta go. Things to shoot in the face."

Gorgoron smirked that evil smirk. "Enjoy your slaughter, bird man."

-break-

"Jeeze Sparrow, slow down! I don't wanna get caught!"

The gypsy waved her off with the hand he wasn't using to forcibly drag her through the crowded seating area. "Tish tosh, stop bein such a whiny wank Hammer! You're gonna love this, promise!"

"How can I love something if you won't even tell me what it is?" She looked down at the arena, Sparrow's enthusiasm hard to match. As much as she'd enjoyed what she'd seen of Sparrow's fighting, she was hard pressed to say what would have him so excited.

"And next into the Arena, Gorgoron the Soulslicer!" Mad-dog's booming voice announced as the doors leading from the waiting area opened, the little girl walking out into the center.

"Is that a kid?!" Hammer looked over at Sparrow's grinning mug, as horrified as she was confused.

"Yea-well, no not really-"

"Sparrow, we can't let a little kid participate, it's madness! She'll get torn to pieces!"

The gypsy waved her off, motioning for her to watch. And watch she did, in stunned silence through eight rounds of mayhem and slaughter. Only the bandits and highway men faltered when she stood before them, making them the fastest killed.

From amidst a pile of corpses, covered in blood and entrails, Gorgoron the not-little-girl looked up into the stands, and waved at Sparrow, who was cheering as loud as he possibly could.

Hammer looked over at her friend, suddenly worried. She silently prayed to Avo that he wasn't planning on declaring the little demon girl his new pet. They'd had enough trouble with the fire-breathing chicken.


	70. meetings in the wraith marsh

**meetings in the wraith marsh  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Gorgoron, Dog**

* * *

><p>"Hey! It's you!"<p>

The little girl looked up from the dead men at her feet, a grin alighting on her face as she saw who it was addressing her. "Ah, bird man. Greetings."

Sparrow loped to her side, fluffnugget less inclined to greet the being. Gorgoron looked quizzically at the mutt, which Sparrow rubbed on the head. "Don't mind 'im. Fluffnugget, Gorgoron is our friend! Be nice and say ello!"

The dog gave him a stern look, before huffing and complying, licking the little girl on the cheek.

Gorgoron wrinkled her nose at the slobber. "Yes yes, greetings furry beast."

Sparrow glanced around the marsh. "Whatcha up to in Wraithmarsh? Is this where yer mum lives? Cause I have a friend who has friends here, maybe they know each other!"

"No one has 'friends' in the Wraithmarsh, bird man."

"Sure they do! Well, Reaver does. He wants me to return something he borrowed from 'em. Figured I'd do it, maybe get a cuppa outta them. And ask em why they want to live here of all places. Seems kinda…damp."

"Reaver…The Thief Prince?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Dunno. Pro'ly. He is a pirate, and pirates steal things-"

Gorgoron chuckled darkly. "And what is it he has asked of you to return? And to whom?"

The Hero pulled the seal from his bag, holding it so the shorter demon child could properly see it. "Some blokes in a well, or a court, or something."

"Hm. Are you aware what it is you hold?" At Sparrow's negative, Gorgoron snorted. "Then you are a fool, far too kind for your own good. You would do well to be more wary of the intentions of mortals, bird man, lest you find your lifespan significantly lowered. Ignorance does not suit you."

Sparrow sighed. "Don't really gotta choice. 'play his game' Theresa says. 'do what he asks', 'stop trying to convince him yer fighten vampires', 'don't touch that'…"

"Your Theresa sounds like my mother. Does she demand your slaughtering to be grand, only to turn around on her words and decree you to be far too extravagant and memorable?"

"_All the time_!"

"It would seem we are more alike than I initially believed. Yes, you will indeed be spared from my oncoming storm."

Sparrow beamed down at the shape shifter. "Aw, thanks! I'll make sure if Hammer ever goes on another of her 'make the world a safer place' kicks that she conveniently forgets about you."

"The large, overbearing woman at your side in the crucible stadium?" Sparrow nodded. "I appreciate the sentiment, though I feel she would be of no challenge to me."

The Hero shrugged. "Pro'ly not. But I don't wanna listen to Theresa go on bout it for a week."

Gorgoron nodded. "Such would be displeasurable, clearly."

"So what are ye doin out here?"

The shape shifter just smiled at him, then changed the subject. "Do you not have a quest to fulfill?'

"Yeeeea. Y'know where this 'shadow court' thing is?"

The shape shifter pointed off into the fog. "That way. Follow the road; it is in the courtyard after the bridge."

"The one with the cages?"

"Correct."

"Sounds like a brilliant place, nice an homey….so, you wanna come with me?"

Gorgoron shook its head. "No. The shadow court are not ones I feel the need to call on. We…do not always see eye to eye."

"Ah well. Maybe next time, yea? Have fun with…whatever it is yer out here doin."

"Perhaps. May your journey be filled with bloodshed and fire, comrade. And bird man? Be wary of those you go to meet. It would be a pity for this to be our final meeting. And should you let your guard down, it very well may be."

Sparrow glanced back through the fog at the deceiving image of a little girl in a patchy dress, the dark grin and glittering eyes the only indication that she was far from what she appeared to be. As he watched, she was swallowed by the fog. "Well fluffnugget, best be on our guard huh?"

The dog huffed, having been trying to make that clear from the beginning. Said canine knew, however, that even the strange creatures warning was unlikely to be heeded, in the end.

* * *

><p>an: I love Gorgoron, why does she/he/it not have a character tag? Lame.


	71. children of the marsh

**children of the marsh  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver, Gorgoron**

* * *

><p>The marsh was weirdly quite, the usual sounds of Hollowmen, balverines, and banshees absent. Which was odd, being the dead of the night and, well <em>Wraithmarsh<em>. And every time either of them found themselves there, the chorus of the place made it very clear they could have their faces ripped off at any time.

"Sparrow, does something seem…odd to you?"

The gypsy was turning about in a circle as they walked. They'd had to take the Cullis Gate back to Bloodstone, after the 'incident' at the docks. It was safe to say Reaver wasn't letting Sparrow drive again anytime soon. " S'awfully quite."

"Yes – we haven't seen or heard a singular Hollowman since we arrived-'

"An usually they're on you like stink on a hobbe second you get here. It's that bleedin Cullis gate, I think they like the light."

The outlines of the ancient town center rose up from the bowels of the fog, which had been strangely thick, considering the lack of banshees to create it. The closer they got to the buildings, the more oppressive the silence. And then-

"Do you hear that? It's bleedin creepy." Sparrow had gotten as close to Reaver as he could to keep his voice from carrying. "S'like…children. _Giggling_."

"Don't be mad, why ever would there be _children_ out here?"

"Banshees."

"Beg pardon?"

"Banshees. They have creepy children. With knives. Bloody buggers'll stab you in the shins."

Reaver sighed. "Those hardly count as children. More like…" he searched around for a proper description that wouldn't sound utterly ridiculous.

"Homicidal gnomes?"

Reaver made an exasperated noise. "Have you ever had the pleasure of _meeting _a homicidal gnome? They are hardly the same."

"Well, no…wait, have you?!" Sparrow spun to walk backwards in front of the pirate. "When? Where? Did they try to bite off your kneecaps?!"

Reaver waved him off, distracted suddenly by movement in the fog. The two paused, Sparrow following the pirate's line of sight.

"Homicidal gnomes?" Sparrow whispered hopefully.

"Does this look like Brightwall to you?"

"Where?"

"Well met, bird man."

Sparrow squinted into the fog at the short figures moving toward them. "Gorgoron?"

"Correct." The not-child came into view, grinning eerily up at them. Behind her, a pack of children revealed themselves to be Sparrow's homicidal gnomes. "I see your visitation with the Shadow Court went well."

"Yea, well, aside from them siccing their mist monster on me an all."

Gorgoron chuckled. "Was this preempted by your wished for cup of tea?"

"Not even a little. They weren't very nice. The middle one reminded me of someone, but he wouldn't tell me who, the wanker."

"If I may interject?" Twenty hungry gazes shifted from Sparrow to him, Gorgoron giving him a far too interested look. He, of course, made certain his lack of caring was obvious before continuing. "Who _are_ you? And why is a-rather deep voiced though you may be-little girl out playing in _Wraithmarsh_? Shouldn't you and your little friends be off in a town somewhere getting beneath the feet of your parents?"

The shape shifter flashed a toothy grin. "I am Gorgoron, the Soulslicer. And my appearance is thus solely because it _amuses_ me."

"Them too?" Sparrow pointed at the large gathering of children standing silently behind his demonic pal.

"_We are the children of the Marsh. We are lost, we are forgotten, and we __**hunger.**__" _All of the children spoke as one, their voices crawling up the Heroes' spines in a way even a banshee wail couldn't.

"Yes, that's all very spooky. But why are you _here_ specifically?"

It was Gorgoron that spoke this time. "They were lost, and I have found them. We will not remain in the Wraith Marsh for much longer; your passage will not be hampered by us."

"Now that you've found them, what're you gonna do with 'em?"

The pretend little girl cocked her head and smiled the innocent smile of a child. "Do not overly worry, bird man. No harm will come to you, as I have always promised. And you need not worry for your friend, for we could not harm him if we so pleased."

Reaver was incredibly displeased with the entire exchange, but before he could demand less cryptic and childish answers –even though he had a fairly good idea of what was going on-Sparrow latched onto his arm and began to tug him along.

"Brilliant! Well, have fun Gorgoron. We gotta go deal with some…uh…stuff that may or may not be my fault. If you're going to Bloodstone later, you're welcome to have drinks with us!"

"Your hospitality is pleasing to me. Until we meet again, bird man. May your journey be filled with bloodshed and fire. And yours as well, Prince of Thieves."

Reaver frowned, disliking intensely the far too knowing grin the creature was giving him. "Sparrow, where did you make this 'Gorgoron's acquaintance?"

"The Crucible in Westcliff, 'fore I went to the Spire."

"Am I to assume it was an eight year old girl there as well?"

The gypsy nodded. "Made for great entertainment."

"How charming." He glanced over his shoulder, noting that the shape shifter and its horde of 'marsh children' had once more disappeared into the fog. "I get the distinct impression they're up to something."

"Pro'ly. But you heard Gorgoron, we'll be right as rain regardless, so I shant worry about it, and neither should you."

"Me? Worried? Hardly. I simply wish to impress upon you the likelihood of a certain blind pest insisting we do something about it. "

"Dunno. 'Aven't heard much from her since we killed Lucien and stole his Spire for her." Sparrow sighed happily, stretching his arms to the overcast sky. "It's brilliant!"

"Yes…" at the sight of the bridge looming before them, a thought occurred to him. "Sparrow?"

"Ya?"

"Did you invite that _thing_ into my home for _drinks_?"


	72. free stuff

**finders keepers  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Hammer**

* * *

><p>"ug, what's that smell?!"<p>

Sparrow glanced around as Hammer's gaze turned toward him, confirmed that yes she was looking at him, then made a show of sniffing the air. "What smell? It's the same as usual, all books and dust and old lady."

"It smells like something went and died ages ago…" She leant in and sniffed him. "Blimey, it's you!"

Sparrow sniffed at his underarms. "Ye sure? I don't smell anything."

Hammer, now holding her nose, pointed at his head. "I think it's that bloody hat! Where'd you get that mangy thing?"

He looked up at the thing perched on his skull. "This? Found it." He whipped it off his head, examined it, swatted off some dirt, then plopped it back on his head.

"Found it _where_? That thing is foul!"

"It was just _lying _around…"

"Lying about where, exactly?"

"some dirt."

"Brilliant. Dare I ask where the dirt was?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Y'know, in a grave in Bowerstone Cemetery. S'not like the blokes gonna need it anymore."

Hammer looked horrified. "You stole that thing from a _grave_? Sparrow-"

"Yea yea, grave robbing bad-"

"And that thing is horrendous! It smells like a Hobbe on a hot afternoon, and its half eaten by…grave..things."

Sparrow shrugged. "yea, but I didn't have to pay for it. And stealin from dead folk ain't really stealin so…you can't complain."

"I can if it reeks up the place."

"Finders keepers Hammer! I shant be getting rid of it."

"Fine. Then you can go sit in that corner, away from me."

"But-"

She pointed far more threateningly than he thought was really justified. "Corner!"


	73. trick for treat

**trick for treat  
>Fable II-III<br>Logan, Walter, Sparrow**

* * *

><p>"Papa, mother told me to ask you for candy."<p>

Sparrow gave his young son a quizzical look. "Why does yer mum want candy?"

Logan shifted uncomfortably. "She doesn't. I do. I asked her, and she told me to ask you."

"Oh. Right." The gypsy dug through his pockets, coming up with nothing except an old piece of jerky. "Hm, well, looks like it's at least candied-"

"Father, I don't think those specs are sugar."

After a quick sniff, a disgusted face, and a neat toss while the servants weren't looking, the jerky was gone off out the window and forgotten. "We-ell, I don't actually have any. Go find Walter, and have him take you into town."

Logan frowned. "But father, must I go into town looking like…this?" He pulled at the costume that'd been forced upon him when he'd awoken. Sparrow wanted all of them ready for the costume ball 12 hours ahead of schedule, so Logan was forced to wander the castle dressed as a troll (in honor of his former-now-deceased pet.)

"Least you have clothes mister! When I was your age I was wearing stitched together sacks we nicked from the docks, in five feet of snow, with no roof. And we had to walk uphill both ways to get em!"

He blinked up at his father, not quite sure if the man was being serious or not. After all, how did one walk uphill both ways? Either way, he knew better than to argue. He wanted to sate his sweet tooth, not spend an hour trying to trump his father in a verbal debate. "Yes sir."

Logan made his way to the main hall, following the sound of the soldier's voice. He stopped at the top of the stairs, frowning quizzically at the scene below him. An enormous hobbe was giving orders to the servants, by his side a large, standing-on-two-legs dog was checking things off of a list.

"Walter?"

The Hobbe turned, revealing the face of the soldier. "Ah, Logan my boy! Don't you look properly terrifying!"

"You're a hobbe."

"Yes, your father's idea. I've no idea where he got these costumes from, but I can't say I'm too thrilled that he's held onto them all these years."

"And a fair few years he's had them I would wager, judging by the smell." The dog joined the conversation, revealing himself to be Jasper. "And as much as I simply adore the irony of my…chosen attire, I can at least say it's preferable to the other choices."

Walter chuckled. "Aye. Have you seen Garth and Hannah yet?"

Logan shook his head, making a mental note to avoid them as long as possible. He had no desire to see what else his father had pulled from the bottom of his endless bag. "Walter, father wishes for you to take me into town."

Walter glanced down at himself. "That's just what I need, every tosser in town-"

Jasper cleared his throat in a 'there are children present' manner. "I think that's a wonderful idea. In fact, I have a list of items for you to pick up as well." He handed off said list to a rather downtrodden Walter. "Have fun you two."

The soldier scowled at Jasper's retreating back. "Right, bloody-ok Logan, let's go. The sooner we get this over with the better."

The prince couldn't agree more.

-in town-

"Aw, aren't you the cutest little thing!"

Logan did his best to not scowl up at the kindly goods vender. At least he didn't have to explain why he was dressed so: by the look of the cat ears perched on her head, as well as the odd manner of dress of nearly everyone in the town, word of his father's costume ball had spread like wildfire.

"What can I get for you two?"

Walter handed off Jasper's list. "And some candy, for the boy."

She giggled, pulled a rather large brick of chocolate from beneath the counter, and handed it to Logan. "On the house, on account of how adorable you look."

Logan thanked her, looking at the candy in his hand, a plot forming in his head. "Walter, is it alright if I walk around the square?"

The soldier agreed absently, patting him on the head. It was clear all of his attention was on the stall vendor, who was making googly-eyes at him. Logan had been expecting as much, and took the opening. After all, had Walter actually heard what he said, he would have been met with resistance.

Logan wove his way between people, smiling and nodding when appropriate. His eyes on the prize, he put on his best innocent little boy face and approached the gifts trader. Another woman in costume (some sort of bird mask and an obscene amount of feathers) who smiled sweetly down at him.

"Hello sweetie, aren't you dressed to impress?"

"Excuse me miss, but I was wondering…" he drew it out, using his ten year old antics to their fullest (it helped he looked younger than he was.) "Could I maybe…have some candy? Just a little piece…For the party?"

She giggled. "Oh I don't see why not. But only if you do your best troll impression for me!"

And as much as he disliked having to demean himself further, Logan had more than enough experience with trolls to properly pretend to be one. Crouching, he jumped up with a roar, swaying his body as he'd seen his own pet troll Steve do.

The stall vendor laughed, clapping merrily. "Here you are love." She handed him his prize, leaning down and whispering as she did so "And I bet if you did that for the other vendors, they'd be willing to give you a treat as well." She patted him on the head with a wink.

So Logan, always willing to finagle things from willing marks (his father had taught him well) went from vendor to vendor, doing his troll impression for goodies. Before long he had a bag filled (a gift from the lady in the furniture store) and a great grin on his face.

"Oh hello there!"

He turned to smile sweetly at the woman coming out of the doorway to his right.

"Why ever are you dressed as a troll, sweetie?"

"There's a costume party at the castle tonight, ma'am. Father wanted me dressed for the occasion."

"Oh, is your father going to the festival in the square tonight? I hear it's going to be wonderful."

Logan honestly had no idea, though he wouldn't put it past his father to ditch out on his own party to fraternize/terrorize the townsfolk. "'M not sure, ma'am. He may, once mother goes to bed." True enough, that.

She chuckled. "I see. And what have you got there?"

"Candy, ma'am. From the vendors. I pretended to be a troll, and they very kindly offered me sweets."

She looked thoughtful. "Oh, do you do a good troll impression then?"

He nodded. "Yes, I've had lots of practice, Ma'am."

"Tell ya what, if you come with me and do it for my friends, I'm sure they'd give you candy as well. What do you say?"

Logan gave her a toothy grin. "Yes please!"

-later-

"Balls, where has that boy gotten off to? If I lose him, who knows what Sparrow will do to me, or the rest of the town, for that matter."

"Are you looking for someone, sweetie?"

He turned to the woman. "Yes, actually. A boy, bout this high, dressed as a troll."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh! That little dear is yours, is he then? He's at the tavern with Mildred."

Walter groaned. "Ten minutes. Ten minutes I take my eyes off him and he wanders into a tavern. Boy takes after his father in all the wrong ways."

The entrance to the tavern was jam-packed with people, all of them cheering on something he couldn't see. Walter pushed his way through them, calling out for Logan in the process.

"Hello Walter!"

Said soldier blinked. "Logan? What in the name of Avo are you doing?"

Logan smiled from his perch on the tabletop, sack of candy on the floor in front of his. "Being a troll, like father wanted."

Walter watched the boy growl and mime throwing rocks, acting very much like the real deal. He was suddenly struck with the idea that maybe the stories about Sparrow catching an actual troll for the boy weren't as hogwash as he originally thought. "That's wonderful Logan, you're father would be proud. But it's getting late, and you know how your father gets-"

The prince snorted. "I'm not the one that spent the last two hours 'getting supplies'."

"Two- I was gone ten minutes."

"Then why is it getting dark already?"

Walter faltered, not realizing the boy was that perceptive. Or that willing to call him out. "That's not important. Now come on, hop-to!"

Logan sighed over dramatically, turned to his admirers, bowed, and then hopped off the table. As Walter escorted him through the throng of people, they patted him on the head and handed him treats. Others mock-booed his departure.

Walter waited until they were out of the tavern and on their way back to the castle before asking, "What in Albion was that all about?"

Logan pulled a piece of chocolate from his bag, sticking it in his mouth with a self satisfied smirk. "I performed a trick, and they rewarded me with treats."

"Why?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Because _candy_, Walter."

The soldier grunted. "Right. Take your sister with you next year. Bad enough she'd going to be right peeved when she sees what she's missed out on."

"You mean….I can do this next year?"

Walter chuckled. "Don't see why not. I'm sure this won't be the last time your father has one of these parties, way he seems to be enjoying it. Which means this won't be the last time we have to dress like this. And if you can get something out of it, well…."

Logan grinned. "Brilliant. Candy?"


	74. slender

**slender  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver, Hammer**

* * *

><p>"I still think this is a load of bollocks Sparrow. How can something without a face even exist, let alone terrorize people? I mean, if it can't breath-"<p>

"It doesn't have to make sense, Hammer, that's the brilliance of it! And who needs to breathe, anyway? Breathin's overrated."

"But if it doesn't have eyes, how can it find you? And I swear if you say 'the power of awesome' I'll smack you upside the head."

Sparrow's response was to clap his hands as close to the Heroine's ear as he could reach.

"Bloody hell, why'd you do that?!" She swatted at him, but the gypsy had wisely leapt out of her reach.

"You heard that yea? You hear me now! Don't need a face to hear things, do ya?"

"Our dear vagabond does have a point; one cannot fight logic as _flawless_ as that." Reaver gave Hammer one of his self satisfying grins. He, much like Sparrow, was just out of her reach.

Garth had taken the sane route and stayed in his tower, content to let them do the wandering-about-in-the-woods thing.

"You keep saying that, and every time I believe you less and less."

"Hey, look at this." Hammer had veered off the path, shining her torchlight on the trunk of a tree. Attached was what looked like-"Paper? What other idiots have been wandering about out here besides us?"

Sparrow leapt to her side, shoving his face inches from the newly found item. "Well this looks promising!" He snatched it from its perch, holding it for all of them to see.

"'No eyes'. Well, either we've found a clue pertaining to Sparrow's Slender-beastie, or we aren't the only hapless group to meet his dear gypsy seer and forever be scarred."

A twig snapped in the darkness, drawing the wary gazes of the Heroes.

"Sparrow, if this is some stupid prank you've planned-"She was hushed by a hurried wave from the gypsy.

"Perhaps we should keep moving? Unless you'd prefer I just start shooting at your potential accomplish, Sparrow love."

Sparrow, though clearly keen to venture into the darkness of the trees and wrestle whatever was out there, begrudgingly motioned for them to continue onward.

"Look, is that another one?" Hammer pointed to an overturned carriage near the side of the path, a small off-white square standing out starkly against its dark hull. "'Leave me alone'. Sounds like this bloke is a charmer."

"Yes. What I want to know, is the point behind these oh so charming and informative bits of scattered lunacy we keep happening upon."

Hammer nodded, for once agreeing with the pirate. "Why leave these messages, why not just bash the guys face in and be done?"

"Besides the sheer barbarism behind the act?" Reaver ignored the nasty glare being sent his way. "Not everyone is so well equipped as us to deal with the nasties in the night.

Quelled by the pointed looks burning into his skin daring him to utter the word awesome and then be forcibly removed to the lurking 'nasties' in the forest, Sparrow changed the subject. "D'you think it ate him?" Here he pointed at the note now flapping lightly in his hand. "Or did the…thing with the egg..insertion?"

"How should _I _know, this wild ghost chase is of _your_ design."

"Not my _design_, s'not my fault you haven't heard the stories of…..Slenderman."

Reaver and Hammer both frowned, Sparrow having suddenly turned pale. "Look Sparrow, I hear things all the time at the pubs, doesn't mean I have to go off chasing every single-"

"No, _Slenderman_-"The gypsy pointed to what he'd been staring at over their shoulders. "There. Watching…"

Hammer went pale, and Reaver reached for his gun. "What is that?!"

"I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. If killing it ends this lovely little trek through the woods-"Reaver blinked, the creature suddenly gone in the blink of an eye. "Where-"

"I think we should go." Sparrow tugged at them both, his voice far too subdued for the affair to be something he was a part of. That generally ended in more giggling.

The group continued on down the ominous trail, all pointedly ignoring the occasional snapping of twigs behind them.

"Is this thing just going to follow us aimlessly through the woods all night?"

Sparrow threw a quick glance over his shoulder. "Dunno. Pro'ly."

"Now that we seem to have found this…whatever it is, I find myself rather curious as to the details of these charming tales that lured you (and thus me) out into these abject woods in the middle of the night."

"Yea Sparrow, all you told us was there was a thing without a face out here you wanted to hunt down."

The gypsy shrugged. "That's pretty much it. Faceless thing that stalks people, and brutally murders them after they see it. Forever, and always. Bloke who told me was a right jumpy bugger too. Kept looking out the window like he was s'pectin ta see the ghost of 'is dead mum or something."

"Sounds promising."

"So it can only kill you if you see it? Sounds like a load of hobbespit to me."

"More like…once you see it you can't unsee it…till it removes your eyes from your face and uses them to make earrings."

"Are you implying that by bringing us out here, and showing us this charming monster, you've signed us up for a lifetime of stalking? I must say, I preferred your other birthday gift far more-"

"I told you, the doppelganger wasn't a gift, and you really should get rid of it. It creeps me out. Did I mention the other day it was pretending to be Theresa? Scared the bloomin pants off me! I thought she was gonna demand I go do her shopping again! Or yell at me for the whole Skin-Walker incident…."

"The what?"

Reaver shuddered. "Do refrain from encouraging him to explain. I'd rather not relive that night."

"But if that means what I think it does-"

"Trust me when I say it most certainly does not."

"Look!" Sparrow pointed toward a shack set back from the path, a rectangular patch of off-white standing out starkly against the dark wood grain. Before either of his companions could stop him, the gypsy was loping off toward it. "'Help me'."

"Help you with what?"

Sparrow spun, holding the note out before him. "No, that's what it says. 'Help me'."

Hammer frowned. "Seems like a lousy way to ask for help. I mean, who knows how long it would take for anyone to find that?"

Sparrow looked thoughtfully at the treetops, tucking the note away with the others. "3 and a half days, minimum."

"I'm not going to bother asking how you figure that. Maybe we should check inside, see if whoever wrote those is in there."

Sparrow shrugged, turning and slinking to the door. It was off kilter and rotted, a poor defense should those of ill intent come calling. "Hello?" He rapped lightly on the wood with the muzzle of his pistol, now drawn and ready just in case some crazy tried to jump him. "Won't shoot you if return the favor!" He waited a beat, and then pushed the door. It fell inward with a thud, noise subdued by the dust that rose from the intrusion.

"Anyone in there?" Hammer held her torch above Sparrow's head, attempting to reveal all corners of the hut.

Squinting, Sparrow crept inward, trying to make the door beneath his feet groan as little as possible. "Doesn't look like anyone's been in here in ages." The cabin was bereft of furniture, hosting only a singular chair near an empty fireplace. And all was covered in dust and cobwebs. The few windows were boarded up, haphazard and lacking in uniformity.

"Well this was a waste of time."

Sparrow retreated back outside, Hammer moving from the doorway. "On the Brightside, no nasty rotting-Holy Hell!"

Reaver and Hammer turned to see what had caught his eye. Lurking at the edge of the forest was a man, tall and lanky as a sapling dressed in finery foreign to them. But there the likeness to a man ended; the skin pale as the moon was stretched seamlessly over the skull, as though wearing a mask. No eyes, no nose, no mouth, yet still it was clear the thing saw them, all malevolent intent and horror.

Sparrow drew closer to Hammer and the torch she held aloft, attempting to see better the being watching them. "What…what is that?" He didn't bother answering the question, since the answer was obvious.

"About to be dead." Reaver loosed three bullets in succession, each hitting their mark.

The thing, the Slenderman, jerked as the metal collided with its body. For a moment it stood, gaping holes in its body tiny windows to the forest behind. And then skin shivered and stretched, covering the wounds until it was like they never were.

"Dear Avo…"

"Well, this is going well."

Slenderman took a slow step forward, then another. Sparrow shivered, close enough to Hammer to feel the tremor that made its way through her. Even Reaver had subconsciously shifted closer to them. It seemed to draw the darkness of the pines with it, dimming the torches and silencing the forest, replacing the song of the wilderness with something fuzzy and grating, a sound that clawed at their skin and grew louder the closer the thing drew.

"Me thinks it's time to run away now." The gypsy didn't bother to wait for affirmation, instead holstering his pistol and grabbing his companions in an attempt to drag them after. It took a few tugs, but finally Hammer shook herself and followed, Reaver emptying the dragonstomper into the approaching creature. Even the gunfire seemed muffled, despite the guns natural roar, echoing oddly against the trees they crashed through, caught and kept by the underbrush and the unnatural shadows.

They ran until they couldn't, stopping to catch their breath only because the blanket that seemed to muffle and suffocate had lifted, leaving them with only the baleful cries of the nocturnal things that lived there. At some point Hammer had lost her torch, now the only source of light the small flame Sparrow summoned to dance in his palm.

"It would seem once again you've managed to drag us in over our heads, Sparrow. Well done." There was no malice in his words, minor annoyance and ill placed humor there instead. Reaver finished reloading the dragonstomper with a click, tucking it away and turning to face his panting companions with a rather nasty smirk. "What do you propose we do now?"

Sparrow rubbed his hands through his hair, face screwed up in either aggravation, concentration, or both. "I dunno, I didn't really think this far ahead."

"Why does this not surprise me in the least?"

The gypsy growled. "I didn't think we'd actually find anything! Let alone something that can take bullets like Hammer can pints."

Reaver snorted. "I would have thought by now you would have realized the odds seem quite happy to stack against you. Of everyone I've ever met, you are the singular magnet of bad luck and sheer chaos I've not yet put out of its misery for dragging such across my path. Perhaps if I had, you'd have gotten it by now."

"Look, would you two shut it for a minute? We could be in real trouble here! That thing may not look like much; for Avo's sake you'd think a strong wind would just...blow it away! But…" She paused, clearly looking for the right words as though they'd rise from the debris beneath their boots. "I don't know what that was, that..._noise_ inside my head-"

"Oh, hearing things now are we? Perhaps-"

"Oh shut it already Reaver. I know you heard it too. We all did. And you can play the unruffled Hero all you want, but you're as pale as Sparrow or I. Whatever this thing is, I don't think running in with weapons drawn is going to work this time."

Something snapped in the distance, all three instantly silent and on alert. Sparrow closed his fingers around his flame, caging it to dim the light. "I think we should keep movin."

"And go _where _exactly?" Reaver hissed in return, aggravation born of unease seeping through his façade. Sparrow shook his head, the pirate rolling his eyes and quelling the urge to put a bullet through the man's knee.

"I think the little sod's right, we need to keep moving. We're sitting ducks out here."

"I hope you know that if I should find my eyes removed for that _things_ collection, I will hold you _both _personally responsible."

* * *

><p>an: Slenderman is a (relatively) new monster/urban legend most notably used in Marble Hornets (Which can be found on youtube) and more recently Slender( a PC game) from which i drew the inspiration for this. (play-throughs of which can also be found on youtube.) Stay tuned for the conclusion of Slender:Fable.


	75. slender pt 2

**slender pt. 2  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver, Hammer**

* * *

><p>"I feel like we've been running for ages!"<p>

"Clearly we haven't." Reaver pointed to the sky, still dark and starless. The three of them stood huddled at the base of a crumbling tower, clothes torn and in disarray from their flight through the forest.

And no matter how fast they ran, how many times they changed course or littered the darkness with bullets, always they could feel it watching, hear it draw near by the noise screeching through their minds.

"Sparrow, I swear to Avo if we make it out of this alive I'm never letting you near another pub for the rest of our lives!"

"I know, alright? I'm a bleedin idjit, this is all my fault, and yer gonna haunt my ghost for all eternity!" Sparrow dropped into a crouch and promptly buried his face in his knees. Although it was muffled, the string of curses he uttered still made their point.

"Now now, don't be too hard on the lad. Is it his fault that flesh hungry monsters are drawn to him? Or that for once a drunken pub tale wasn't just bluster and fanfare?" Reaver raised a rather pointed brow at Hammer when she opened her mouth angrily to reply 'yes, it was'; she just managed to get the hint before the words could tumble heatedly from her mouth.

They could berate Sparrow later, when they weren't on the verge of being skinned and violated; when they didn't need him focused and poised to fight to the death if need be. Because if worst came to worst, he was the only one of the three properly equipped to burn the forest to the ground.

"Right. Come on Sparrow." Hammer pulled the gypsy to his feet. "We need to figure out how to kill this thing. If we can find the person who left those notes-"

An explosion of noise: caterwauling crows screeching as they took flight, their wings brushing noisily against the brush as they fled their perches and searched for the sky. Sparrow hissed, tugging at his companions before disappearing into the tower where they'd been taking shelter.

"Well this looks safe." Hammer frowned distrustfully at the stairs they climbed, crumbling and broken from years of neglect. None of them wanted to point out that climbing upwards was going to put them into a corner: it was the only way to go, now that they'd committed to the tower instead of continuing aimlessly through the forest.

"Look, another one." Sparrow had halted halfway up the stairs, staring at the piece of parchment affixed to the wall. There were no words this time, just a picture of what looked like trees with a stick figure at their center.

"You know, these have been _incredibly _helpful. Perhaps if we use these to give this beastie a _paper cut _–"

"What Reaver, it'll just…explode into confetti?"

"Maybe it'll deflate….because it was actually a rubber balloon dummy all along."

"Sparrow, that makes absolutely no sense."

He snatched the paper from the wall with a shrug. "S'wat you said about the entire thing."

"Yea and it still doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't mean it won't eat your face." Sparrow cast a furtive glance over their shoulders to the darkness below, and then continued up the stairs.

"The mechanics of that still elude me. How can such a thing _eat _anything?"

"Same way banshees do?" Sparrow shrugged. "Why don't you go down there and ask him yourself? Maybe you'll find out that we've been sorely mistaken, and he can't actually hurt us. In fact, maybe he just wants _friends_!"

Hammer sighed as the two exchanged cheeky grins. "Then why don't you cart your scrawny arse down there and offer him a hug or something? Then we can go home and forget this ever happened."

"Maybe I'll invite him to the tavern, and you can drink 'im under the table."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Reaver, I swear to Avo if you don't stop breathing down my neck-"

"Oh do shut up woman. I'm nowhere _near_ you or your tree trunk of a neck."

She frowned, glancing over to see that the pirate was in fact telling the truth. He was more beside her than anything, both of them occupying a side of the stairs behind Sparrow who seemed determined to stay directly in the middle. "Then who?"

Both she and Reaver turned at the same time. Lurking directly behind her was the creature they were trying to flee from, the smooth alabaster nothing of his face inching toward her own. Her breath caught as the scritchy, fuzzy noise roared through her head, blurring her vision. Distantly she heard swearing and the roar of gunshots.

"Hammer! Hammer ge'up!" A blurry, wavering Sparrow appeared over her, his mouth moving but nothing making sense to her.

"I would suggest you get her up sooner rather than later, love. The more bullets I put in its ugly face, the less it seems affected by them."

Sparrow winced, and then against his better judgment slapped Hammer across the face. When no punishment was forth coming, he did it again, harder. "Oy! Woman! Up! Life or death! Creepy face eating monster! No more pub crawling if you die!"

She swatted away his hand before he could smack her again, groaning. "What-what happened? Where am I?"

"Lying about on the stairs like a lazy sod." Sparrow grinned, offering her a hand up like nothing was wrong, and gunshots weren't exploding in quick succession from directly below them where Reaver was standing.

"Sparrow-"

"Come on, up the stairs! There's a…prize! At the top! But we have to hurry or it'll be gone!"

"I'm neither 7, nor a dolt, you bleeding sod." She offered him a weak smile as he half pulled, half carried her up the stairs.

"Could have fooled me!"

Sparrow threw an obscenity over his shoulder, but it was drown in the roar of gunfire. If they made it through this, the lot of them were going to be as deaf as geezers.

"Balls…" They'd reached the top of the stairs, before them a door with a wonderfully large padlock blocking their passage.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Reaver shot the gypsy a glare. "You're the one who drug us up here, so why not use that hard head of yours for something _useful_?"

Hammer huffed. "Don't look at me, I can barely stand."

"Bloody hell. Knew I shoulda nicked those lock picks from Garth…" He tugged at the padlock. It didn't budge. Not that he expected it to. Wishing (not for the first time) he'd learned the Force Push spell, Sparrow used his shoulder as a battering ram. It took four tries before the hinges cracked and the door gave in, the force sending both door and Hero sprawling to the floor of the tiny room beyond.

"Reaver!" Hammer pulled herself through the doorway, helping Sparrow climb to his feet and ignoring the barely audible cussing and threats against doors and carpenters he was currently spewing. "Get your bloody arse in here before I lock you out there with it!"

"Then how about _you_ hold off the nasty flesh monger and _I _do the yelling for awhile?" He leapt nimbly through the doorway, pistol poised to cover the landing while Hammer and Sparrow lifted the door and shoved it back into place. "Marvelous. I have no doubt that will absolutely keep it out."

"Now is really not the time for sarcasm, pirate! Help us find something to barricade the door with!"

"Uh, guys?"

"What?!" They both turned to glare at Sparrow for interrupting their soon-to-be argument.

"I think I found the note guy." He cocked his head at the body near his feet.

"Are you sure it's him?"

"Well…he's missing his face." Sparrow crouched, examining the rather disturbing corpse. Next to it was a piece of paper, much like the others they'd found scattered throughout the forest. On it a drawing of the monster currently stalking them. He snagged it and stood, waving it at them. "And he has one of these."

"Great, that's always a good sign, finding the bloke who was warning you off dead in an old padlocked room."

"I do hope you see the problem with that statement." When Hammer just gave him a tired look that clearly asked what he was on about, Reaver clarified as though commenting on the weather. "He died in a locked room. So unless that lovely little stick man outside can scale walls to climb through windows, hiding behind a door (locked or otherwise) is pointless."

Sparrow cast a suspicious glance at the small window. "I don't trust you."

"Great, I always wanted my death to be a pub tale that only drunken loons bought into."

"Hammer, d'you think you can knock that window out so we can fit through it?"

She grunted. "I suppose. But what good is it going to do us?"

Reaver sighed. "Do you _want_ to die in this smelly little hovel?"

"No but-"

"Then do as our dear drunken loon asks, hm?"

"Hey! Ain't drunk! Yet. But oh will I be…"

"I'm sure you will. Now get over here and help me hold this damnable door while our giantess makes our getaway hole."

The two of them stood, bodies pressed against the door while Hammer took out her hammer and began the arduous process of knocking part of the wall out. Outside they could hear footsteps, the aggravating noise that came with them grating at their minds.

"Haste would not be out of the question Hammer!" The door rattled, jarring them. Across the room dust and debris skittered out from beneath the pummeling of the stone hammer colliding solidly with the wall.

"Almost got it, just hang on!"

"Hang on to _what _precisely?"

The door was jarred again, harder, the two Heroes doing their best to keep their footing. "I've got an idea."

"Oh brilliant! Because that's worked out so wonderfully for us already!"

Sparrow dug through his bag, pulling out the small stack of papers he'd collected along the way. None of them had failed to notice the thing was attracted to them (or seemed to be at any rate) and the gypsy decided it was high time he get rid of them. He rolled them up, and with a deft movement lit them on fire. "Move!" He pulled away from the door, yanking it open just far enough to toss the burning paper out onto the landing.

"What was that supposed to do? Give it light so it can better see a way to break the door down?"

An unearthly screech erupted behind them, the fuzzy noise in their heads dimming and wavering. Smoke was making its way under the door and around their legs, the wood they leant against warming to the touch.

"Sparrow. Did you just do what I think you did?"

"Accidentally set the door on fire? Nah."

Reaver glared at him. "Silly me, it must be my imagination."

"Hammer? Hole?"

"Almost…got it. Just one…more…there!" The head of the hammer went through the wall, sending stones and mortar cascading to the forest floor. She yanked it back through only to send it sailing once more. The wall gave in, crumbling away to reveal a skyline of trees alight with the first rays of dawn.

"Took you long enough." At this point the door was too hot to touch, the smoke billowing around their feet black and greasy.

"What the bloody hell did you two geniuses do?!"

"Don't give _me _that look, I'm not the arsonist of the group."

Sparrow's response was to grab Reaver by the shirt and unceremoniously shove him out of the broken wall. "Well?" He motioned for her to go next.

She stared at him, first startled, then with something akin to envy. "Wanker, you should have let me throw him out."

The door took that moment to collapse inwards, revealing a burning Slenderman. Hammer made a disgusted noise at the sight of its smooth facial skin bubbly and sliding off to decorated the no longer pristine suit jacket. "Lovely that. Gonna have nightmares for weeks." She turned to Sparrow, grabbed him under the arm, and tossed him out after Reaver.

"Ho shi-"Sparrow landed with a thud, just barely managing to not break anything.

"Such grace!"

Sparrow drug himself to his knees, flipping the pirate off once he no longer needed his hands to pry himself from the dirt.

"Sparrow move!"

He glanced up, blanched, and then threw himself out of the way seconds before Hammer landed where he'd been. "Avo's undies Hammer! Ye tryin ta kill me?!"

"Gave ye warnin', didn't I?"

"As much as I am enjoying this, can we have this conversation away from the burning tower of death?"

Sparrow looked up at the hole they'd come through, smoke and flames clearly visible. The sound of mortar giving way to flame was growing, the groaning and grinding making it clear that the decrepit tower wouldn't be standing much longer. "I'm with Reaver."

They made it into the trees before the ground shook violently beneath their feet, a wave of dust sweeping over them and clouding their vision and lungs. Heat blossomed at their backs, dancing firelight reflecting off the not yet settled debris cloud and making it even harder to see where they were going. The fire was spreading quickly, leaping from one tree to another until it was racing the Heroes and threatening to ensnare them.

Finally they broke the tree line, stumbling at the sudden change beneath their feet. Behind them the sky was on fire with a false sunrise, as though mimicking the true one just barely making its sluggish way into existence. Sap and bark crackled as it was cooked, animals screeching and hollering as they were forced from their homes.

"For once Theresa can't holler at you for settin the place on fire." Hammer leant on her weapon, rubbing the soot and dirt from her face.

"Oh she can. And she will."

"Yes, you _did_ use the only shred of evidence to that things existence to set everything within a mile radius (if not more) ablaze."

"Bollocks, yer right!"

"_Hero, can you hear me? I see fire-"_

Sparrow dropped his face into his hands. "Sod off Theresa! It was all Drunken James's fault!"

* * *

><p>an: Happy Halloween everyone! If anyone went/is going as Slenderman, then kudos! I saw a Slenderman with a greenscreen face mask and gloves, twas brilliant. Cheers!


	76. a common literality

**a common literality  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Hammer, Theresa**

* * *

><p>"Just one more room, we're nearly done. I know I said that before but hopefully this time it's true."<p>

"_Be wary Hero, that is often the point when the ground falls out from under your feet."_

Sparrow stopped in his tracks, gaze landing accusingly upon the stone floor. "The ground will do what now?!"

Hannah stopped and looked back at him as if he'd gone mental. "Sorry what?"

The gypsy leapt over to the nearest wall, clinging to it as he looked wildly about the ground. "Why would it do that? What kinda bollocks defense mechanism is that? Ground falling out-wouldn't that be detrimental to the whole collecting water from weird statue things?!"

"_I was not being literal, Sparrow. The ground will not actually fall away from beneath you-it is a common saying."_

He scowled. "If it's so bleedin common, how come I ain't never heard it before huh? I'm on to you Theresa! You're just tryin to lull me inta false sense a security so I'll finish your bollocks errand!"

"_Sparrow-"_

"Damn it Theresa I'm a Hero, not an errand boy! Fetch yer bleedin' Pilgrim yerself and get me away from the psychotic, flesh hungerin cave!"

"Sparrow? Who are you talking to?"

Said Hero grumbled. "That bleedin blind woman that thinks she can tell me what to do all the blasted time. But I'm not playin anymore! Ya hear me woman? Sparrow refuses to move, so you best come ninja us outta here!"

"_I am not coming to collect you. You need to finish this quest. Do you not want to get your revenge on Lucien?"_

"Sod Lucien, and sod this quest!"

"Uhm, Sparrow? Is she…here? This blind woman of yours?"

He snorted. "She's bleedin _everywhere_, Hannah. She sees us, and watches us while we sleep-"

Hannah patted him placatingly on the arm, the look on her face making it abundantly clear she was worried about his mental state of being. And her own wellbeing, since the loon was the only one there that was armed. "That's…charming. Look, I don't like this anymore than you do, but we can't just stand around in this cave for the rest of our lives-"

"But the _ground_-"

"It'll be fine, I promise. Look, if whatever you think is going to happen happens, I'll make sure you don't…have your flesh eaten."

Sparrow gave her a piercing glare before nodding curtly. "Fine. So long as you promise to help me haunt Theresa for the rest of forever if we get swallowed whole by the dirt monster."

Hannah snorted. "Fine, I promise. Now, can we get moving? This bloody jug is killing my back."


	77. inattentiveness breeds insanity

**inattentiveness breeds insanity  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver  
>(sequel to familiarity breeds inattentiveness)<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>You. Dead."<em>

Reaver turned just in time to see a blur of color before something solid hit him around the middle and sent him sprawling painfully to the floor. Between the impact and the sudden solid _thing_ on his chest, breathing had become quite difficult, and his only means of conveying his displeasure was a rather inarticulate sound.

Something (hands? He couldn't tell, everything was out of focus and far too shiny) curled painfully in his shirt front. A voice was yelling something at him, but the words refused to put themselves into any semblance of order in his brain (he must have hit his head at some point.) When he didn't respond (couldn't, really) the hands began shaking him, painfully, lifting him just far enough from the ground that it hurt to reconnect with it. The only upside being that somehow or other the motion helped clear his vision and bring reality back into something sensible (though it made him feel as though he had the king of hangovers.)

"Oy! Bloody listen to me when I'm shouting at you!"

Reaver blinked away the rest of the fog from his mind, the blurry figure on his chest solidifying into the Hero he'd sent off to Wraithmarsh. Except something wasn't computing properly. He blamed the abuse to his person for his inability to comprehend what that something was.

"Reaver, I swear on Skorm's dead mother's dog if you don't answer me I'll set you and this damn manor on fire, regardless of what Theresa says about needing you."

He grabbed a hold of the Hero's wrists (his gun unreachable what with Sparrow sitting on his chest and all) in an attempt to stop the violence against his person. "Would you _desist_?"

The rough handling stopped, though Sparrow's fingers were still twisting somewhat painfully in his shirt. "Well?! "

"Well _what?_ You can't honestly expect me to have heard a word you just said, the way you've been _manhandling_ me."

Sparrow growled. "You. Made. Me. _Old_."

Reaver frowned. "Did I now? Well I must say, if _this_ is what you consider old I'd hate to see your reaction when you see yourself in twenty years."

"In twenty years I'll be bleedin' dust. Or worse!"

Now Reaver very truly was confused. The gypsy looked just as vibrant and youthful as he had the first time they'd met (a surprise, when one considered where he'd been sent off to.) There was still something _off_ about his appearance that Reaver couldn't _quite_ put his finger on, but it had nothing to do with his youth (or lack thereof.)

"Dust? I quite doubt that. Unless you plan on locking yourself in a burning building."

"Look, all I know is that your see-through friends and their pet mist monster tried to skin me, then they stole my youth! Just cause I was tryin to figure out who the one in the middle reminded me of! And all the way through bleedin Wraithmarsh my skin is itching, and that girl is whining, and the banshees are laughing at me-"

Reaver put pressure on Sparrow's wrists until the Hero hissed and let go of his clothing. Instead of letting go (which would have been an incredibly foolish move) he brought the gypsy's hands were he could look at them. "I must say, you don't have the hands of an old man. And if you were more inclined to civility, you would see the rest of you is just as wrinkle-free (well, the unclothed bits anyway.) Now, not that I don't enjoy having you atop me, do be a dear and _get off_."

Sparrow, clearly reluctant, acquiesced, climbing to his feet with a huff and disappearing from his former captive's line of sight. Reaver pulled himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his head where it had so rudely been introduced to the floor.

"Bloody hell in a Hobbe hole…" Sparrow had found a hand mirror, looking himself over with a rather peculiar look on his face. He put the glass as close to his face as he could, prying one of his eyelids as wide open as he could.

"What are you doing?" He really wished his head would stop spinning, so he could stand upright without the aid of the chair he was clutching. Mostly so he could shoot the rude little git.

Pulling a lock of hair in front of his face and examining it in all possible lights at all possible angles, Sparrow ignored him until he'd come to some sort of conclusion. "I'm…not old."

"Oh? What was your first clue?"

He ran a hand through his disarrayed hair, pulling the ends over his shoulder to look at. There was something incredibly obvious that was nagging at Reaver's mind, something that was wrong with the picture before him something-and then he realized.

Sparrow (who was currently pouting at him) was just as youthful as he had been before his sojourn into the shadow court, but he hadn't walked away completely untainted. The once garish, half-dreaded mess of hair was whiter than the beard of the old sea dog who hung about in the pub, and his eyes were a brighter crimson than the carpet beneath their feet. _How_ that had escaped him, well, considering how badly the room had been spinning not ten seconds ago, it wasn't a complete mystery.

"But…the mist monster….and the girl, she bleedin' _told _me…"

"In all fairness, by what you've mentioned, you should by all rights be old and disgusting. However, it seems you've somehow managed to circumvent it without _me _suffering." Because yes, a quick feel of his face verified that he had in fact gained the youth promised him.

The Hero looked forlorn, of all things. A quick movement Reaver wasn't quite ready for and Sparrow was standing directly in front of him, hands clamped on his shoulders. "But if I'm not old, how can I get away with acting like a senile old loon?" Sparrow shook him lightly, much to Reaver's displeasure. "Feigning dementia won't work if I don't look the part! And if I hit people with a cane and tell 'em to get off my yard, they'll just think I've gone round the bend!"

"Oh, and you haven't now?"

Sparrow dispensed with the shaking, though he didn't let go or remove himself from the pirate's face. "No! That's the problem! I can't get away with anything like this! Theresa will _know_, and bloody hell will she go on. And on and on and on."

"Much as you're doing now?"

"What should I _do_? I just got to liken the idea of being old!"

Reaver pressed the muzzle of the dragonstomper just hard enough against the underside of Sparrow's chin to get his point across. "Let go of me, for starters, hm?"

Sparrow complied, though he didn't so much let go as he did throw himself away. "Go ahead, shoot me, I don't care. I don't know what to do with myself now that I'm not old anymore…"

In spite of himself, Reaver found his free hand jumping back to rub the back of his head. The words coming out of Sparrow's mouth did not compute, and he wanted to make sure it wasn't simply because he'd smacked his head against the floor a few too many times that night.

"_Hero, Hero, can you hear me?" _

The pirate blinked, suddenly noticing the voices drifting from somewhere near Sparrow's rear. "Oh dear, I may have hit my head rather harder than I thought."

"_Oi, who's that? Sparrow, is that Reaver? Sparrow! You bloody git, answer me already! First you go on about being skinned, and now when we can finally hear you again you're going on about canes and going round the bend? I swear if you don't start making sense-"_

"_Hammer, I highly doubt yelling is going to help. Sparrow, if you would be so kind as to explain what's been going on-"_

"_You haven't killed anyone have you?"_

"Sparrow dear, am I going mad or is your bag talking?"

The gypsy, still with his back to the pirate, reached around and grabbed something from said bag, throwing it to him in response. Reaver caught it, turning it over curiously in his hands. It looked vaguely familiar, though from where or why he hadn't a clue.

"_Reaver_, _can you hear me?" _The voice of an old woman again.

"It depends. If I admit to doing so, will I find myself locked away?"

"_You are not losing your mind, Reaver; I am speaking to you through Sparrow's Guild Seal."_

And that would be where he'd seen the trinket before: story books of his youth, back when Hero's had only been eradicated for a short time.

"Of course you are."

"_Is that the Thief?" _a man's voice in the background.

"_Hey pirate! If you've done anything to Sparrow I'll bash your face in-"_a woman, also yelling in the background.

"You're lovely little friend here doesn't need _me_ to 'do anything' to him, he seems quite capable of getting himself in trouble."

"_While I do not disagree, I think it would be beneficial for us all if you could explain what has happened."_

"Aside from assaulting me on false grounds? Nothing, unless you count a bit of…color alteration to his person of any relevance."

Sparrow decided to take that moment to appear before him once more, this time focusing his annoyance on the trinket he held aloft between them. "I'm not _old_ anymore! All of my carefully laid plans to harass people are ruined. _Ruined_, Theresa!"

The old woman (Theresa, he assumed) sighed, while in the background he could hear the other two bickering about something.

"_If that is all, I suggest you continue on with your quest. It appears as though Lucien's men are on their way to Bloodstone as we speak, in great numbers. I suggest the two of you make haste, before all is lost."_

Her words were punctuated with an explosion. Sparrow groaned, grabbed the seal from Reaver and promptly shoved it away. "Bloody great. I've had my life's goals _ruined _twice today, and now Lucien decides he wants to get off his creepy vampire ass now of all times and come after me himself. Ancient git has no respect. _No respect!_"

"I'll say! It seems Lucien has gone and betrayed _me_ just as I was about to betray _you_."

Sparrow stopped his scowling. "What?"

* * *

><p>an: in-game, if you sacrifice your youth but have donated 10kG to get Avo's sword your youth is returned but your hair stays white and (at least for awhile) your eyes stay red.


	78. BFFs

**BFFs  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>Sparrow stretched as far as he could before the pull on his skin was too much. He rubbed the burn on his arm absently, weighing in his head whether or not the particular trade he had taken up was worth it. Sure, the gold was decent, and yes, he found it to be quite fun. The aftermath, however, was less than desirable.<p>

He brushed at his pants leg, despite the uselessness of the action. The step of the Cow and Corset he'd perched himself on was filthy in its own right.

"No Sally, he's _mine_. Get your own!"

"But Jeremy, why can't we _share_?"

"Because I said so. Go home and help mum, we have _things _to do."

Sparrow glanced toward the kids loitering in the alleyway to his left. It reminded him fondly of his childhood, the lurking in alleys and being chased by guards….

"Gregory can be my BFF too if I want! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Go home and leave me alone, Sally!"

The gypsy watched as the little boy he assumed to be Jeremy stomped off toward the square carting a mewling, snow white kitten. A little girl, clearly a sibling, shuffled out of the alley slowly, rubbing at her eyes and sniffling. She stood near Sparrow, watching her older brother disappear into the crowd.

Sparrow, ever curious and not one to be kept in the dark, got her attention. "Your brother's a dick. You should take him swimming in Bower Lake."

She blinked at him. "W-what? Why?"

The gypsy gave her a sly smile and waved off her questioning. "No reason and nothing anyone can prove. Why were you fighting over a cat? There's tons of em round here." He pointed to one picking through scraps in the gutter between the bar and the closest house.

"Gregory is special! He's my BFF, but Jeremy says I can't have him because he already called him. It's not f-fair!" She sniffed some more, wiping snot onto her dress sleeve.

"Wasn't aware there was more than one kinda cat. What's a be-ef-ef? Does that mean it goes with a certain kinda scotch?"

She gave him a rather perplexed look. It may have been his insinuation that cats were for eating, or that she had no idea what scotch was (both of which he found to be preposterous. At her age he was well acquainted with both things.)

"Best Friends F-forever."

He blinked. "Come again?"

"A BFF, a best friend forever. Don't you –sniff- know anything?"

Now Sparrow knew lots of things. How to shoot things in the face, how to get a perfect all-over tan, which color cat went with which color alcohol…He also knew that street urchins had neither wagons, nor non-patchy dresses. And they most certainly didn't fight over who got to spend time with a kitten.

Which lead him to the deduction that neither the girl nor her brother were urchins, and that as far as she would be concerned no, he didn't know anything.

He shrugged. "Enlighten me then yea? What's the difference between having friends and best friends forever? Does it require jars?"

The little girl looked thoughtfully up into the sky, finger tapping her chin in what Sparrow assumed was a mock gesture she'd picked up from a teacher. "I don't think you need jars-"

"Barrels?"

"No."

"Crates?"

"Uh uh."

"Catacombs?"

She giggled, all trace of tears gone. "No! A BFF is a friend you spend all your time with. Who you tell secrets to, and play games with, and will always love you no matter what!"

"Even if you set their bed on fire?"

She nodded.

He whistled. "Or lock them out of their house?"

"Yep!"

"Set a banshee loose at their Halloween party?"

Her eyes got big. "You caught a banshee? But mommy told me they aren't real!"

"Oh they're real. So very, very real. And annoying. They never shut up, and their little ankle-biter minions are either stabbing you in the shins or tripping you into punch bowls…"

"_Wow_. Are you still friends?"

"With the banshee? Noo, kinda hard to be friends with dead things. Well, cept Hollowmen, but those are more bite-y than a balverine…"

"No, with the friend you got the banshee for!"

"Oh, yea. He just convinced every bard he could find to follow me around and sing obnoxious yuletide carols at me whenever they saw me."

She grinned a toothy, little kid grin. "You have a BFF and you didn't even know it! If your friend is still your friend after you do all that, then they're definitely a BFF." She gave an enthusiastic nod to make her point.

"Really? So, do I have to-"

"Sally! There you are! You were supposed to be home ages ago!" A woman Sparrow vaguely recognized strode up to them, giving him a rather nasty look. "And what have I told you about talking to strangers?"

He watched, rather aggrieved as the girl was carted away by her mother before he'd been able to get an answer to his final question. Now that he had a 'BFF' what in the name of Avo was he supposed to do next? Was there some sort of ritual? Because he was pretty sure he'd had enough of 'rituals' to last a lifetime. And what was it the girl had said? Something something can't have him because whats-his-face claimed him? That gave him pause. Clearly some sort of claim had to be made, though how to go about such a thing was still a bit foggy.

And then something sparkled to his left, and Sparrow had an epiphany.

-break-

"What are you doing Sparrow? You know very well my beliefs on marriage, so however it is you've gotten it into your head-"

"Marr-No! Bloody hell Reaver, why in the name of Skorm's Great Aunt Irma would I want to _marry _you?"

Reaver tapped the trinket in the gypsy's hand. "Well generally when one wants to propose _marriage_, they offer their intended a _ring_. Can you see from where my confusion is occurring?"

"I know _that_. That's where I got the idea, actually."

"Idea for _what_, exactly?"

"How to lay claim to you as my BFF! I mean, you aren't a kitten so I can't just put a collar on you."

Reaver muttered the term under his breath. "Be ef-Beautiful, fucking, feline-"

"What? No, it's uh, best…friends forever. Yea, best friends forever, that's what it was."

"Right. So in order to…_claim_ me as this BE-EF-EF of yours, you decided to buy me a _ring_."

"Yep."

"Such as one does to claim a lover. Except instead of becoming husband and…_wife-"_here he pointed at Sparrow, who scowled at the insinuation that he was the woman. "We become, what?"

"BFF's."

Reaver rubbed a hand over his eyes. "And how is that _any _different from now?"

"Well…" He hadn't actually thought about that. It sounded exciting, but now that he did think about it, it didn't seem to have any differences except-

"And we are in no way counting the giving of rings. In fact, we are going to pretend it never happened."

The gypsy frowned. "But then how can I 'call you' as my BFF? What if somebody else calls you? Then who will I pull pranks on Hammer with, or gift Hollowmen to, or steal liquor from, or-"

Reaver sighed in that exasperated way he reserved solely for Sparrow. "I will say this once, and only _once._ You need not worry about someone 'calling' me as their 'BFF'. I do not have friends, nor do I plan on acquiring any in the future. I just have _you_. Are we clear?"

"What if they try to anyway?"

"Then I will lodge a bullet between their teeth."

And just like that the unsure puppy dog look was replaced with a sparkling grin. "Brilliant! So are we still on for Drunk Dunking?"

"Of course. How else would we spend our Sunday evenings if not startling the drunken masses into falling off of the dock?"

"We could start a cult and make Sunday night poker night."

"Then what ever would you spend your Friday evenings on?"

"I could teach a banshee to play the violin."

"My but you do have a fascination with banshees, don't you?"

Sparrow shrugged, rubbing absently at the burn on his arm. He was pretty sure he'd smudged more soot in it at some point during his trek from Bowerstone to Bloodstone, the way it was itching.

Reaver, ever observant and finally finding the point in the night where he could ask the question that had popped into his skull the second he'd caught sight of his rather un-characteristically filthy friend. "What in Albion have you been doing all day? You're covered in soot and you smell like a bonfire. You haven't been off burning down buildings again have you?"

Glancing down at himself, Sparrow snorted. "Nah, the all-seeing mouth would still be gripin if I had. That fire-twirler guy we met at Carnival in Knothole Island came into Bowerstone the other day, showed me how to do it." He pulled a rather hefty coin purse from his pocket, clinking the coins inside with a shake of his hand. "It's brilliant; I get to play with fire _and _make money."

"You don't say. He didn't happen to teach you the part of his act involving the sword, did he?"


	79. if i had a nickle

**if i had a nickle...  
>Fable II<br>Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>"Aren't you a little old to be calling yourself Sparrow?"<p>

Said Hero scowled. "It's my name, thanks very much…_asshat._"

Reaver chuckled. "Bit of a sore spot?"

Sparrow blew an errant hair out of his face. "No, it's just bloody _annoying_. I mean, if I had a gold piece for every time I heard that-"

"You'd be able to afford to change your name?"

"No-"

"Get that mess of a mop fixed?"

The hero touched his hair automatically. It was a messy combination of dreads and loose hair, the work of Wraithmarsh, which he was at the moment refusing to re-dread. It was becoming a hassle, and damn it he was sick of Hammer making cracks about them having the same hair.

"No. I was thinking something grander, and far more ridiculous."

"Oh?" Reaver gave him the 'you have caught my attention, mortal' look, which Sparrow found somewhat hilarious.

"Yea. Like, have an immense statue made of myself entirely out of chocolate, or buy a ship and thirty horses to pull it around on land and convince everyone Albion is sinking."

"Well, those _are_ both grand and ridiculous. Although you may need more than thirty horses to pull an entire ship if you wish to go any further than a mile."

Sparrow waved him off. "Minor technicality. Maybe I'll get eight legged ones big as houses, or robotic space ones."

"And how do you plan on acquiring either of those kinds of beasts of burden?"

"Through the power of _awesome_."

A firm shove and Sparrow became effectively dislodged from his perch on the dock. "And will the 'power of awesome' also pull you out of the bay and dry you off?"

"Yea, but will it do it for you?"

"Beg pardon?"

Before the pirate could properly react, Sparrow had hoisted himself up, grabbed a hold of the ankle dangling above him, and yanked Reaver into the water beside him. Ten minutes of cursing and attempted drownings later, they managed to haul their soaked carcasses out of the bay with a hand from a nearby dock worker. A dock worker who Reaver then promptly pushed off the dock for touching him.

"As fun as that impromptu little swim was, I think I've had enough of the 'great outdoors' for the evening."

"Agreed."

"Sparrow, what are you doing?"

Said Hero looked up from the fire he'd summoned into his hand. "Drying myself with the power of awesome. I can do you next if you like."

Reaver, well aware of the gypsy's track record involving both arson and Will control, declined. "I'd rather keep my eyebrows, thank you."


	80. the wish revealed

**a wish revealed  
>Fable II &amp; III<br>Sparrow, Reaver**

* * *

><p>He awoke with a gasp, grabbing his pistol and sitting up. Sitting up, he quickly realized, was a horrific idea. Sparrow collapsed back, free hand flying to rub at the sore spot on his forehead that had hit whatever it was above him. It felt like stone, but it was impossible to tell what with it being pitch black and all.<p>

"Bloody _hell_." The hit was doing nothing to help his already aching head. He was also having a hell of a time remembering what he'd been doing up until now, his mind a curious swirl of color and noise and nothing.

Sparrow patted himself down, taking note that he was in his fanciest attire, making him entertain the notion that he'd gotten trashed at another gala and wandered off somewhere peculiar to pass out. It wouldn't have been the first time. In his hands journey about the space around him he found his sword lying beside him. He wasn't completely sure, but he vaguely recalled it falling off of his chest after he awoke. He drug a palm up and across the stone surrounding him, panic beginning to take hold of his insides.

The pieces of this particular puzzle were beginning to fall into place, and he was _not _liking the picture they were portraying. "I swear to Avo, if this is a tomb….Cross my heart hope to bloody _die_ if I get out of here I'll _never ever _get drunk _again_."

A far away, distorted chuckle, an aggravating scraping, and sudden blissful, burning blinding light. Sparrow squinted, breathing deep the sudden excess of oxygen. Slowly the world came into focus, a figure outlined by what he realized was torchlight leaning against the lip of what was most definitely a tomb.

"A bit _late_ for that I'm afraid. The dying bit, not the awful swearing off alcohol bit." Reaver smirked down at him, head cocked and eyes glittering in the soft, flickering light.

Sparrow sat up slowly, taking in the vast space of what he realized to be the recently made tomb on the castle grounds. He looked down at himself, his clothes impossibly pristine, the space around him littered with flowers and trinkets. The pirate only startled slightly as he grabbed the thin wrist nearest him. "I can't have-I'm not-"

"Dead? No, it would seem not." Reaver was giving him a thoughtful look. "Do you happen to recall what you were doing before you awoke here?"

Sparrow shook his head, instantly regretting it when it started to throb.

"Hm. Nothing at all? The woods? The fire? The _charming_ band of men we'd been pursuing for the better part of a week? No? Then I suppose you don't remember the bullet that lodged itself-"He poked Sparrow in the forehead with the forefinger of his free hand. "Just there?"

The gypsy felt suddenly light headed. Reaver frowned, then slapped him lightly across the face, just hard enough to smart. "Now now, you don't want to rejoin the unconscious dead so soon, do you?"

"Ug, no. But you keep hitten' me I might." At least now his headache made sense. Sort of. "Shouldn't I be dead? Or…" He gave Reaver a critical look, taking in the pirate's oddly fancy garb. "Are we both dead? Trapped forever in a tomb together for all bleedin' eternity?"

Reaver laughed. "Hardly. I'm very much alive, thank you. And you are as well. If you must know, I was previously attending your _funeral_. Quite the depressing affair, I assure you. Even the weather somehow got in on it, _raining_ all over us while we stood there and watched them cart you down here-and _don't _get me started on Hammer. That bloody woman, _crying _on me. Me! She doesn't even like me, yet she saw fit to slobber all over my good jacket-"

Sparrow watched the pirate become more animate with each word, recounting bits and pieces of a funeral he couldn't remember. He hadn't noticed until now the slight disarray of the pirates attire (the rain and the various people who 'dared touch him'), nor had he realized how pale Reaver had been until his diatribe begun to restore color to his face.

"How did you know I wasn't dead-well, that I wouldn't stay dead?"

Reaver grimaced, though he tried to hide it. "Well, I wasn't completely sure-and when you didn't come to on the way back to Bowerstone, well." He held up a finger for silence when he saw Sparrow open his mouth to comment. "Do you recall that lovely day trip we took to the Spire with our favorite blind seer? Yes? How about the wish a certain gypsy in this room made?"

Sparrow snorted. "Ya mean the one I don't remember making? The one none of us can recall what, exactly, was wished for?"

Reaver's grin was smug. "I wouldn't say _all_ of us…"

He gaped. "You _knew_? All along, you knew what I wished for, and didn't think to tell me?"

"Of course not! Why would I _ever _let on to your _charming_ companions that I was paying the _least_ bit of attention? They'd have gotten the impression I cared-"

"Clearly you did, if you do remember. Can't remember somethin if you don't listen to it'n the first place."

Reaver waved him off. "Yes well, the point _being_, I knew what you said before the tower went all blindy on us. It'd have been foolish to be ignorant of such things, but clearly our fellow 'Heros' didn't agree-"

"So, what was it?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Tell me anyway."

The pirate sighed. "You were blathering on about how disagreeable dying was, how Lucien was an awful shot-and then you said-"

"I'm sick of bloody dying for this stupid place; I wish I didn't have to die for Lucien, You, or anything else." Sparrow chimed in with the pirate, eyes widening as he finally remembered his post-death diatribe. Though he was more surprised that Reaver had been listening at all, let alone that he remembered it still.

"And then everything went white, and after you and that woman reappeared. So I assumed you had inadvertently wished for immortality. Not that you seemed to need it, judging by the things you were yelling-"

"Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me sooner?"

Reaver shrugged. "And ruin the fun?"

"Right, well, fun had. Now would you mind helping me out of this bollocks thing? My head feels like a Hobbe sat on it."

With the pirate's help, he managed to climb out of the rather deep sarcophagus, making sure to grab his things before Reaver shoved the lid back in place. "So how are we going to get out of here?"

"The same way we came in? Well, maybe not the way you came in-"

"Everyone thinks I'm dead. S'not like I can just walk out of here like nothing happened."

"The great thing about actually having died, I'm sure you'll find, is how easy it is to continue to _fake_ your death. After all, sooner or later someone would have noticed your knack for looking youthful and _not_ letting a thing like purported old age kill you. I should know. Now, as I recall you and Garth made some…_interesting alterations _to this tomb, did you not?"

Sparrow set the engraving situated on the ground between the two sarcophagi aflame in response. "Oh you know, a few."


	81. a chest of silver keys

**A chest of Silver Keys  
>fable 2<strong>  
><strong>Sparrow, Hammer<strong>

* * *

><p>"There you are! I've been lookin' for you for ages you little git!"<p>

"Uh huh."

"I almost lost my hammer in the bloody river thanks to those hollow men you left me with! Fortunately those creepy things don't seem to know how to swim."

"That's fabulous Hammer, really, wondrous. Give 'em my regards."

"What? Sparrow, did you hear a word I just said, or are you pretending to be your decoy again?"

"Don't worry love, sure it'll be fine. I hear it's nicer in summer anyway."

"Hey!" Hammer gave a sharp yank to the nearest mass of Sparrow-hair, eliciting both a yowl of pain, and her friend's sudden undivided attention.

"Oy woman! Can't yeh see I'm workin' here?"

Hammer gave him _the look_. "Working? All I see is you fiddling with a bloody chest!"

Sparrow hissed like a cat in heat. "_Bloody chest?_ Hammer, this isn't just some bloody chest! _It's a silver key chest_!"

"As opposed to what, the bronze key chest? Or the _lemon flavored_ chest?!"

"_Do-not-speak-of-that-accursed-tongue-stealing-beast!"_

"All right all right, bloody hell Sparrow-"

"Silver keys, Hammer! They unlock the shiniest of shinnies! The more keys you 'ave to shove in 'em, _the better the prize at the bottom of the barrel_."

"Bottom of the-never mind. Can you just shove your keys in 'em already so you can get your magical parakeet hat or whatever and we can go? This place gives me the creeps, and I _really_ don't want to get all the way to the bridge and then have to _go back _and save you from a _swamp monster_ because you took his biscuit!"

"Silly Hammer, swamp monsters don't eat _biscuits_, they eat _babies._ Or was it Jim Jams?" Sparrow's face went blank. "Great Avo's back-shavings, I think I just realized how it feels to talk to me…"

"Sparrow, you all right?"

The gypsy's eye started twitching.

"Oh for the love of- Did I just _break_ you?" The continued eye twitching confirmed it. "Bloody hell, Theresa's going to _kill _me." As a last ditch attempt, she rummaged around in her pack for food of the non-canned variety (those causing fits of hysteria the likes of which she wasn't properly equipped to deal with.) She'd seen both Reaver and Garth shove food in his face when he started getting twitchy, so it was worth a shot.

"What is-?" She pulled what looked like half a piece of cake from her own endless sack of stuff (compliments of Theresa.) "When the bloody hell did this get in there? You know, I actually don't want to know." And with all the grace of a hero of strength, she pried open Sparrow's jaw and stuffed it with cake.

Sparrow blinked a few times, then gave a cross-eyed look of puzzlement to his mouth. "Ehn ih ah geh agg?"

"Say again?"

A few disgusting seconds later there was enough room in his mouth for both speech and cake. "When did I get cake?"

"I'm guessing whenever you hid it in my pack you little git. Now hurry up. I want to be out of here before the sun comes up and those things out there can properly see us."

Sparrow looked aghast at the sad remains of the cake in his hand. "This was in your endless bag of wonders?"

"No, I stole it from that banshee's birthday party we passed earlier-of _course_ I did!" The look he was giving her was making her a little nervous. "Why?"

Without a word, Sparrow oh so gently returned the rest of the cake to her pack.

"Sparrow?"

He wiped the crumbs from his hands and turned slowly back to his project. "That was from Reaver's unbirthday party."

"Oooooh…." Hammer turned her eye toward their destination, judging how long it would take them to get there and how long it would be before she had to carry her soon-to-be-a-handful gypsy. "So, ah, that chest of yours…When d'you think you'll have it open?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Soon as Garth's lock picks stop being lying gits."

"Sparrow…Garth doesn't have lock picks. In fact I specifically remember him saying he refused to get anymore for you to break."

"Ah…" He held up the 'lock picks' to reveal a pair of knitting needles. "S'pose that s'plains a lot….'cept when Garth started knitting…."

"Why don't we just come back?"

Sparrow gave her the evil eye. "_Heroes never surrender Hammer." _

"Oh-kay, I think the cake's kicking in…Can't you just open it the normal way?"

"NoIdon'thaveenoughkeys."

"English. Sparrow. _Please_."

With an exasperated sigh of epic proportions, Sparrow dropped his head against the chest with a dull thud and repeated himself. "Keys. Not enough of. Silvery."

"If you wanted keys you could have just asked."

"Eh?"

Hammer fished a purse from her pack. It clinked and clanked when she waved it at him. "Been pickin' them up for ages. Dunno who keeps dropping them…."

Sparrow snatched the purse from her hand and dumped its contents onto the ground beside him. Thirty odd silver keys and more than a few house keys lay in a glittering pile on the almost-dead grass. With a maniac cackle Sparrow grabbed up handfuls of keys and rubbed them against his face.

"_Yeeeeeesssss!"_

"Ok, Sparrow, open your chest, and then assume the position so I can once again lug your scrawny ass out of these bloody woods."

Sparrow giggled, attempting to tie keys into his hair.

"Right, time to go." In one swoop she grabbed the giggling gypsy and stuffed him under her arm.

"_Nooo! The keys, the keys!"_

"FINE." She loosened her grip on him just enough so he could reach down and make a mad grab at the pile of keys. After he'd gotten the last of them down his shirt, Hammer hefted him back up, only for him to begin squirming like an eel.

"What now?!"

"_The chessssst."_

With her free hand she hoisted the silver key chest up onto her shoulder. "Happy now?"

Sparrow nodded his head.

"Good. Now let's go drop you off at Reaver's. Would you like that? Would you?"

"Can I go swimming?"

"When did you learn to swim?"

Silence.

Hammer sighed. "Fine. But bring that git with you. He's got enough hot air in that head of his to keep both of you from drowning."


End file.
